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HARRIET-TCOMSTOCK 


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JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 


JANET 


Frontispiece 


JANET  OF 
THE  DUNES 


BY 

HARRIET  T.  COMSTOCK 

AUTHOR   OF 

JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS, 

A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS,  ETC. 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS        ::        ::        NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1907, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


All  rights  reserved 


w 

C73  <? 


LOVINGLY 

3T  SDcUitate  tins  iSook 

TO 

CARRIE    LOUISE    SMITH. 

HER   FRIENDSHIP    WAS,   AND   ALWAYS  WILL   BE,  A  LIGHT  TO 

ME    UPON    MY   WAY.      THE    CHART   SHE    SAILED    BY 

WILL   GUIDE  MY  COURSE  AND  BRING  ME,  1 

HOPE,  AT  LAST,  TO  THE    HARBOR 

WHERE    SHE    HAS    GONE. 

HARRIET  T.  COMSTOCK. 

Fuitbush,  Brooklyn,  N.Y. 
June  15,  1907. 


918839 


PREFACE 

IN  this  story  of  the  dunes,  the  Hills  and  the 
Light,  I  have  not  attempted  any  character 
drawing,  although  on  the  easterly  shore  of 
Long  Island  there  are  many  people  who  have 
retained,  together  with  the  plain  old  English 
names  which  they  brought  with  them  by  way 
of  Connecticut  and  Rhode  Island,  a  simplicity 
and  sturdiness  of  character  not  to  be  found 
elsewhere,  I  believe,  so  near  the  great  cosmop- 
olis,  and  which  is  worthy  a  place  in  song  and 
story. 

It  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  mingle  for 
many  summers  with  these  kindly  folk,  and 
particularly  with  a  little  group  of  gentle,  rather 
bashful  and  silent  men  forming  a  crew,  with 
their  captain,  of  one  of  the  United  States  Life 
Saving  Stations. 

It  is  my  hope  that  this  story,  if  it  does  noth- 
ing else,  will  in  some  small  measure  enhance 

vii 


PREFACE 

the  not-too-strong  interest  in  which  the  poorly 
paid,  obscurely  enacted  heroism  of  the  men  in 
this  service  is  held  by  the  general  public. 

They  have  not  the  advantages,  like  our  sol- 
diers and  firemen,  of  dressy  uniforms  and  fre- 
quent parade  before  us.  They  would  be  greatly 
embarrassed  by  anything  like  public  homage; 
yet  how  beneficent  is  their  service!  The  lonely 
isolation  of  the  Government  Houses;  the  long, 
ofttimes  dangerous  patrols  every  night  from 
sunset  to  sunrise;  their  detachment  from  home 
and  social  ties, —  all  speak  for  the  dignified 
bravery  of  these  men  along  our  coasts,  and 
should  call  forth  from  us  a  grateful  and  appre- 
ciative tribute, 

HARRIET  T.  COMSTOCK. 

Flatbush,  Brooklyn,  N.Y. 
June   12,  1907^ 


Vlli 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Janet Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"The  two  men   stood  spellbound  before  the 

easel" 117 

"'What  do  you  know  of  my  mother?'"      .    .      187 

"'They're  on  the  outer  bar!    Two   rockets! 

I've  answered!'" 267 


Janet  of  the  Dunes 


CHAPTER  I 

A  SWEEPING  curve  of  glistening  beach. 
A  full  palpitating  sea  lying  under  the 
languid  heat  of  a  late  June  afternoon. 
The  low,  red  Life  Saving  Station,  with  two 
small  cottages  huddling  close  to  it  in  friendly 
fashion,  as  if  conscious  of  the  utter  loneli- 
ness of  sea  and  sand  dune.  And  in  front 
of  one  of  these  houses  sat  Cap'n  Billy  and  his 
Janet! 

They  two  seemed  alone  in  the  silent  expanse 
of  waste  and  water,  but  it  in  no  wise  disturbed 
them.  Billy  was  industriously  mending  a  huge 
fish  net  spread  out  upon  the  sands.  Janet  was 
planning  a  mode  of  attack,  in  order  to  preserve 
unto  herself  the  very  loneliness  and  isolation 
that  surrounded  them. 

In  Janet's  hands  Cap'n  Billy  knew  himself  a 
craven  coward.  Only  by  keeping  his  eyes  away 
from  the  face  near  him  could  he  hope  for 
success  in  argument.     And  Cap'n  Billy,  with 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

all  the  strength  of  his  simple,  honest  nature, 
meau?.  to  succeed  in  the  present  course  —  if 
Janet  would  permit  him! 

It  was  yet  to  be  discovered  how  beautiful 
was  the  girl,  crouching  upon  the  sands.  So 
unlike  was  she  to  the  young  people  of  the 
Station  that  she  repelled,  rather  than  attracted, 
the  common  eye.  Tall,  slim,  and  sinewy  was 
she,  with  the  quick  strength  of  a  boy.  The 
smooth,  brown  s^nn  had  the  fineness  and  deli- 
cacy of  exquisite  bronze.  Some  attempt  had 
been  made  earlier  in  the  day  to  confine  the 
splendid  hair  with  strong  strands  of  seaweed, 
but  the  breeze  of  the  later  morning  had  treated 
the  matter  contemptuously,  and  the  shining 
waves  were  beautifully  disordered.  Out  of  all 
keeping  with  this  brown  ruggedness  were 
Janet's  eyes.  Like  colorless  pools  they  lay 
protected  by  their  dark  fringes,  until  emotion 
moved  them  to  tint  and  expression.  Did  the 
sky  of  Janet's  day  prove  kind,  what  eyes  could 
be  as  soft  and  blue  as  hers  ?  Did  storm  threaten, 
a  grayness  brooded,  a  grayness  quite  capable 
of  changing  to  ominous  black. 

Cap'n  Billy,  trained  to  watching  for  storms 
and  danger,  knew  the  signals,  and  now,  for 
safety,  lay  low. 

The  eyes  were  mild  and  sun-filled,  the  face 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

bewitchingly  friendly;  but  when  Janet  took  to 
wheedling,  Billy  hugged  the  shore. 

"You  don't  really  mean  it,  Cap'n,  now,  do 
you?" 

"I  do  that!"  muttered  Billy,  and  he  pulled 
the  twine  energetically. 

"What,  send  your  own  Janet  off  to  the  main- 
land to  stay  —  except  when  she  runs  back?" 
This  last  in  a  tone  that  might  have  moved  a 
rock  to  pity. 

"Yes,  that,  Janet;  and  ye  mustn't  come  on 
too  often,  nuther." 

"Oh!  Cap'n,  and  just  when  we've  got  the 
blessed  beach  to  ourselves!  Mrs.  Jo  G.  and  her 
kind  gone;  only  the  crew  and  us!  Why,  Cap'n* 
this  is  life!" 

"Now,  Janet,  't  ain't  no  use  fur  ye  t'  coax. 
Ye  're  goin'  on  seventeen,  ain't  ye  ?" 

"Seventeen,  Cap'n,  and  eleven  months!" 

"It's  distractin'  the  way  ye've  shot  up.  Clar 
distractin';  an'  I  ain't  been  an'  done  my  duty 
by  ye,  nuther."  Billy  yanked  a  strand  of  cord 
vigorously. 

"Yes,  you  have,  Cap'n,"  Janet's  tone  was 
dangerously  soft;  "I'm  the  very  properest  girl 
at  the  Station.     Look  at  me,  Cap'n  Daddy!" 

But  Billy  steeled  himself,  and  rigidly  attended 
to  the  net.     "Well,"  he  admitted,  "ye 're  proper 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

enough  'long  some  lines.  I've  taught  ye  t' 
conquer  yer  'tarnal  bad  temper  — " 

"You've  taught  me  to  know  its  power,  Cap'n 
Daddy,"  warned  Janet  with  a  glint  of  darkness 
in  the  laughing  serenity  of  her  gaze;  "the  tem- 
per is  here  just  the  same,  and  powerful  bad, 
upon  provocation!" 

A  smile  moved  the  corners  of  Billy's  humor- 
ous lips. 

"An'  the  bedpost  is  here,  too,  Janet.  Lordy! 
I  can  see  ye  now  as  I  used  t'  tie  ye  up  till  the 
storm  was  over.  What  a  'tarnal  little  rascal 
ye  war!  The  waves  of  tantrums  rolled  over 
ye,  one  by  one,  yer  yells  growin'  less  an'  less; 
an'  bime  by  ye  called  out  'tween  squalls,  'Cap'n 
Daddy,  it's  most  past!'"  There  was  a  mist 
over  Billy's  eyes.  "Ye  'tarnal  little  specimint!" 
he  added. 

"But,  Cap'n,  dear!"  Janet  was  growing 
more  and  more  dangerous;  "I've  been  so  good. 
Just  think  how  I've  gone  across  the  bay,  to  the 
Corners,  to  school.  My!  how  educated  I  am! 
Storm  or  ice,  I  leave  it  to  you,  Daddy,  did  I 
ever  complain  ?" 

"Never,  Janet.  I've  stood  on  the  dock  and 
watched  yer  sail  comin'  'fore  the  gale,  till  it 
seemed  like  I  would  bust  with  fear.  An'  the 
way  ye  handled  yer  ice  boat  in  the  pursuit  of 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

knowledge-gettin'  was  simple  miraculous!  No, 
I  ain't  a-frettin,  over  yer  larnin'-gettin';  it's 
the  us'n'  of  the  same  as  is  stirrin'  me 
now.  With  such  edication  as  ye've  got  in 
spite  of  storm  an'  danger,  ye  ought  to 
be  shinin'  over  on  the  mainland  'mong  the 
boarders!" 

"Boarders!"  sniffed  Janet,  tossing  her  ruddy 
mane;  "boarders!  Folks  have  gone  crazy-mad 
over  the  city  folks  who  have  swooped  down 
upon  us,  like  a  —  a  —  hawk !  Every  house  full 
of  those  raving  lunatics  going  on  about  the  views, 
and  the  —  the  artistic  desolation!  That's  what 
those  dirty,  spotty  looking  things  on  the  Hills 
call  it.  Cap'n,  you  just  ought  to  see  them 
going  about  in  checked  kitchen  aprons,  with 
daubs  all  over  them  —  sunbonnets  adangling 
on  their  heads,  little  wagons  full  of  truck  for 
painting  pictures  —  and  such  pictures!  Lorzy! 
if  I  lived  in  a  place  that  looked  like  those  — 
sketches,  they  call  them  —  I  'd  —  I  'd  go  to  sea, 
Cap'n  Daddy  —  to  sea!" 

"But  they  be  folks,  Janet,  an'  it's  a  new  life 
an'  a  chance,  an'  it  ain't  decint  fur  ye,  with 
all  yer  good  pints,  t'  be  on  the  beach  along  with 
the  crew,  all  alone!" 

"Cap'n,  I  do  believe  you  want  to  marry  me 
off!  get  rid  of  me!  oh,  Daddy!"     Janet  plunged 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

her  head  in  her  lap  and  was  the  picture  of  out- 
raged maidenhood. 

"T  ain't  so!  An' ye  know  it!"  cried  Billy. 
"  But  Mrs.  Jo  G.,  'fore  they  sailed  off,  opened 
my  eyes." 

"Mrs.  Jo  G.!"  snapped  Janet,  raising  her 
head  and  flashing  a  look  of  resentment,  "I 
thought  so!  What  did  she  suggest  —  that  I 
might  come  to  her  house  and  wait  —  wait,  just 
think  of  it,  Cap'n,  wait  upon  those  boarders  ?" 
She  had  suggested  that,  and  something  even 
worse,  so  Billy  held  his  peace. 

"It's  simply  outrageous  the  way  our  people 
are  going  on,"  the  girl  continued;  "they  are 
bent  upon  beggaring  the  city  folks!  Beggaring 
them,  really!  they  have  no  consciences  about 
the  methods  they  take  to  —  to  rob  them!" 

"Janet,  hold  yer  tiller  close!" 

"Oh!  I  know,  Cap'n,  but  I  do  not  want  to 
take  part  in  it  all.  I  want  to  stay  alone  with 
you.  Think  of  the  patrols,  Cap'n  Daddy! 
I'll  take  them  all  with  you.  Sunset,  midnight, 
and  morning!  You  and  I,  Daddy,  dear,  under 
the  stars,  or  through  storm!  Ah,  I've  ached 
for  just  this!" 

Billy  felt  his  determination  growing  weak. 

"I've  made  'rangements,  Janet;  Cap'n  David 
he's  goin'  to  board  ye,  an'  ye  can  look  about, 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

an*  if  ye  see  an  openin'  t'  get  a  chance  t'  better 
yerself  —  not  in  the  marryin'  way,  but  turnin' 
a  penny  —  why  it  will  all  help,  my  girl,  an'  ye 
ought  t'  be  havin'  the  chance  with  the  city  folks, 
what  all  the  others  is  havin\" 

"Oh!  you  sly  old  Cap'n  Daddy!  And  do 
you  realize  that  Cap'n  Davy's  Susan  Jane  is  n't 
any  joke  to  live  with  ?  You  don't  hear  Davy 
tattling,  but  other  folks  are  not  so  particular. 
Daddy,  dear,  I  just  cannot!"  And  with  this 
the  girl  sprang  into  the  net,  rolled  over  and 
over  and  then  lay  ensnarled  in  the  meshes  at 
Billy's  feet,  her  laughing  eyes  shining  through 
the  strands. 

"Ye  'tarnal  rascal!"  cried  Billy. 

"You  think  you've  caught  me!"  whined 
Janet,  "you  think  you've  got  me!  Oh!  Cap'n, 
I'm  afraid  of  the  city  folks!" 

"Traid!"  sneered  Billy.  "My  Janet  'fraid 
o'  anythin'!" 

"Yes,  honest  true!  I  do  not  want  to  be 
near  them.  I  scent  danger;  not  to  them, 
but  to  me!" 

Billy,  bereft  of  his  hands'  occupation,  looked 
out  seaward.  He  was  well-nigh  distracted. 
Always  his  duty  to  this  girl  was  uppermost  in 
his  simple  mind;  but  his  love  and  anxiety 
mingled  with  it.     He  no  more  understood  her 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

than  he  understood  the  elements  that  made 
havoc  along  the  coast  and  necessitated  his 
brave  calling.  He  waged  war  with  the  sea  to 
save  his  kind;  and  he  struggled  against  the 
opposing  forces  in  Janet  that  he  in  no  wise 
understood,  in  order  that  she,  as  a  girl  among 
others,  should  have  her  rights. 

Wild  little  creature  as  she  had  always  been, 
Billy  had  used  all  the  opportunities  at  hand  to 
tame  her  into  a  similarity  to  the  other  children 
of  the  Station ;  and  when  he  had  failed,  he 
gloried  in  the  failure,  and  grew  more  distracted. 
Braving  opposition  in  the  girl  and  the  dangers 
of  Nature,  Billy  had  forced  the  child  across 
the  bay  to  the  school  at  the  Corners.  What 
there  was  to  learn  in  that  primitive  institution, 
Janet  had  learned,  and  much  more  besides  in 
ways  of  which  Billy  knew  nothing. 

For  years  the  quaint  seaside  village  had  lain 
unnoticed  in  its  droning  course.  Ships,  now 
and  again,  had  been  driven  upon  the  bar  outside 
the  dunes,  and  at  such  times  the  bravery  of 
the  quiet  crew  at  the  Government  Station  was 
sung  in  the  distant  city  papers. 

Now  and  again  the  superiority  of  the  Point 
Quinton  Light  would  be  mentioned.  But 
Captain  David  never  knew  of  it.  He  tended 
and  loved  the  Light  with  a   fatherly  interest. 

8 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

It  was  his  life's  trust,  and  David  was  a  poet, 
an  inarticulate  poet,  who  spoke  only  through 
his  shining  Light.  The  government  was  his 
master.  David  thought  upon  the  government 
in  a  personal  way  and  served  it  reverently. 

Then  an  artist  had  discovered  Quinton-by- 
the-Sea.  He  took  a  painting  of  it  back  to  the 
restless  town,  a  painting  full  of  color  of  dune, 
sea,  bay,  and  hundred-toned  Hills,  with  never 
a  tree  to  stay  the  progress  of  the  unending 
breezes.  That  was  sufficient!  The  artist  was 
great  enough  to  touch  the  heart  and  Quinton 
was  doomed  to  be  famous!  But  it  was  only 
the  beginning  now.  Every  house  in  the  village 
had  opened  its  doors  to  the  strangers;  and 
every  pocket  yawned  for  possible  dollars. 
Tents  were  pitched  in  artistic  arrangement  on 
the  Hills,  but  the  hotel  was  not  yet.  Managers 
waited  to  see  if  the  fever  would  last.  While 
they  waited,  the  village  folk  reaped  a  breath- 
taking harvest.  Mrs.  Jo  G.,  the  only  woman 
who  had  lived  at  the  Life  Saving  Station  in  her 
own  home,  packed  up  and  went  "off,"  with 
baggage  and  children,  to  open  the  old  farm- 
house on  the  mainland  and  take  boarders. 
Before  going  she  left  food  for  Billy  to  digest. 

"This  be  Janet's  chance,"  she  said,  standing 
with  her  hands  on  her  hips,  and  her  sunbonnet 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

shading  her  fair,  pinched  face  —  nothing  ever 
tanned  Mrs.  Jo  G.  "She  can  turn  in  an'  help 
wait  on  table,  or  she  kin  take  in  washin'.  It 
won't  hurt  her  a  mite.  Washin'  will  have  t' 
be  done,  an'  the  city  folks  will  pay.  Janet  can 
make  them  fetch  and  carry  their  own  duds. 
She  can  stand  on  her  dignity;  an*  wash  money 
is  as  good  as  any  other." 

Billy  experienced  a  distinct  chill  at  this  last 
proposition.  Why,  he  could  hardly  have  told. 
During  Janet's  babyhood  and  early  childhood 
he  had  assumed  all  household  duties  himself. 
Later  he  and  Janet  had  shared  them  together 
over  tub  and  table,  but  that  Janet  should  wash 
for  the  boarders  was  harrowing! 

"You  think  she's  too  good,  Cap'n,"  sneered 
Mrs.  Jo  G.,  "but  she  ain't.  She's  wild,  an' 
she  ought  t'  get  her  bearin's.  She  ain't  any 
different  from  my  girls  nor  the  others,  though 
you  act  as  if  you  thought  so.  You  ain't  as 
strong  as  you  once  was,  Cap'n,  an'  come  the 
time  when  you  pass  in  your  last  check,  who's 
goin'  t'  do  for  Janet?  An'  how's  she'goin'  t' 
know  how  t'  do  fur  herself?  You  ain't  actin' 
fair  by  the  girl.  It's  clear  Providence,  the  way 
the  city  folks  has  fallen,  as  you  might  say,  right 
in  our  open  mouths.  There'll  be  plenty  of 
chances  on  the  mainland  fur  Janet  t'  turn  a 

10 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

penny,  an'  get  an  idea  of  self-support.     But 
she  ought  t'  be  there,  and  not  stuck  here!" 

Mrs.  Jo  G.  had  hardly  turned  the  Point, 
after  this  epoch-making  speech,  before  Billy 
was  starting  for  the  Light  and  the  one  friend 
of  his  heart. 

"David,"  he  explained,  viewing  his  friend 
through  a  fog  of  thick,  blue  smoke,  "  I  want  that 
ye  should  take  my  girl!  Once  Janet  is  here, 
she'll  be  mighty  spry 'bout  gettin'  in  t'  somethin\ 
I  don't  want  her  t'  take  t'  washin'  or  servin' 
strangers,  'less  she  wants  t',  but  when  'sperience 
an  money  is  floatin'  loose,  my  girl  ought  t'  be 
out  with  her  net." 

"Course!"  nodded  David;  "an'  Janet's  a 
rare  fisher  fur  these  new  waters." 

"Ye '11  keep  yer  eye  on  her,  David  —  knowin' 
all  ye  do?" 

The  furrows  deepened  on  Billy's  brow.  David 
took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"God's  my  witness!     I  will  that!"  he  said. 

Thus  things  stood  while  Janet,  coiled  in  the 
meshes,  lay  laughing  up  at  Billy. 

"What  do  you  think  of  your  haul,   Cap'n 
Billy     Daddy?"     The     man     sighed.     "You 
would  n't  let  those  dreadful  old  sharks  —  they* 
are   sharks,    Cap'n  —  you   would  n't   let   them 
hurt  your  poor  little  fish,  now  would  you?" 

II 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

The  rippling,  girlish  laugh  jarred  Billy's  nerves. 
He  must  take  a  new  tack. 

"See  here,  Janet,  do  ye  mind  this  ?  Ye  ain't 
jes'  my  child  —  Lord  knows  ye  ain't  —  yer 
hers!" 

"Hen?" 

"Yes." 

"Ah!  you  mean  my  mother."  The  net  lay 
quite  still.  Having  no  memory  of  the  mother, 
Janet  was  not  deeply  impressed.  "I  know, 
Cap'n;  when  you  are  in  a  difficulty  you  always 
bring  —  'her'  —  in,  —  what  she  would  like, 
and  what  she  would  n't.  It's  my  belief,  Cap'n, 
she'd  have  done  and  thought  exactly  as  we  told 
her  to." 

" 'T  ain't  so,  nuther!  She  had  heaps  of 
common  sense,  an'  as  she  got  near  port,  she 
saw  tumble  clear,  an'  she  talked  considerable 
'bout  larnin',  an'  how  it  could  steer  yer  craft 
better  than  any  thin'  else;  an'  she  'lowed  if  ye 
was  gal  or  lad,  after  ye  got  larnin',  she  wanted 
ye  should  go  out  int'  the  world  an'  test  it.  She 
was  n't  over  sot  'bout  the  Station.  She  'd  vis- 
ited other  places." 

Janet  sat  up,  and  idly  draped  the  net  about 
her. 

"I  suppose  if  my  mother  had  lived,"  she  said, 

I  would  have  listened  to  her  —  some.     But, 

12 


a 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Cap'n  Daddy,  I  reckon  she  would  have  gone 
off  with  me.  Like  as  not  we  would  have  taken 
boarders,  but,  don't  you  see,  Cap'n,  I  would 
have  had  her?" 

"True;  an'  it's  that  what's  held  my  hand 
many's  the  time.  Yer  not  havin'  her  has 
crippled  us  both.  But  a  summer  on  the  main- 
land ain't  a-goin'  t'  swamp  us,  Janet.  With 
the  Comrade  tied  to  David's  wharf,  an'  me  here, 
what's  goin'  t'  happen  to  a  —  a  girl  like  you  ?" 

Janet  looked  across  the  summer  sea. 

"What?  Sure  enough,  Cap'n  Daddy,  just 
what  ?    And  I  ought  to  be  earning  my  keep." 

"I'm  goin'  t'  set  ye  up  with  some  gal  fixin's 
what  I've  saved  fur  ye.  Yer  mother's  things! 
Ye  ain't  never  seen  them.  S'pose  we  take  a 
look  now.  A  summer,  with  runnin's  over  t' 
the  Station,  will  be  real  interestin',  Janet.  An' 
ye  must  tell  me  everythin'.  There  ain't  no 
reason  why  ye  should  n't  sail  over  every  little 
while,  but  I  do  hope  ye '11  make  yerself  useful 
somehow.  It  will  help  bime  by.  An'  I'm 
gettin'  stiff."  He  arose  awkwardly  and  strode 
toward  the  tiny  house.  Janet  followed,  trailing 
her  fish  net  robe  and  humming  lightly. 

The  house  was  composed  of  three  small 
rooms  with  a  lean-to,  where  of  late  years  Billy 
had  slept.     From  the  middle  room,  which  was 

13 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

the  living  room,  a  ladder,  set  against  the  wall, 
led  to  the  loft  overhead.  The  man  slowly 
climbed  upward,  and  Janet  went  after. 

The  space  above  was  hardly  high  enough  for 
an  upright  position,  so  man  and  girl  sat  down 
upon  the  floor,  and  it  happened  that  a  locked 
chest  stood  between  them. 

"Janet,  ye  ain't  never  seen  these  things, 
have  ye  ?" 

"No,  Cap'n  Billy/'  The  mocking  laugh 
was  gone  from  the  face. 

"Ye  ain't  got  no  sense  of  curiosity  'bout 
anythin',  Janet  —  not  even  yer  mother.  Most 
girls  would  have  asked  questions." 

This  seemed  like  a  rebuke,  and  Janet  kept 
silent. 

"Ain't  ye  got  no  curious  feelin'  'bout  yer 
mother?" 

"Cap'n  Billy,  you  haven't  ever  let  me  miss 
anything  in  all  my  life.  I  s'pose  that's  why  I 
have  n't  asked.  I  never  knew  her,  did  I, 
Cap'n  Billy  ?    You  made  up  for  everything." 

This  unnerved  Billy. 

"That's  logic,"  he  nodded,  "an'  it's  good- 
heartedness,  as  well;  but,  Janet,  I'm  goin'  to 
tell  ye  somewhat  of  yer  mother."  He  took  a 
key  from  his  pocket,  unlocked  the  chest  and 
raised  the  lid. 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Them  things  is  hers!"  he  said  reverently. 
"Little  frocks — "  Three  he  laid  out  upon  the 
floor.  Cheap,  rather  gaudy  they  were,  but  of 
cut  and  fashion  unknown  to  the  beach-bred 
girl.  "And  little  under-thin's,  an'  a  hat,  an' 
sacque;  shoes  —  just  look  at  them,  Janet! 
Little  feet  they  covered,  but  such  willin'  little 
feet,  always  a-trottin'  'bout  till  the  very  last, 
so  tumble  afraid  they  would  n't  be  grateful 
enough.  Lord!  but  that  was  what  she  said." 
The  pitiful  store  of  woman's  clothing  lay  near 
Janet,  but  she  made  no  motion  to  touch  it. 

"And  this  is  her!"  Captain  Billy  took  a 
photograph  from  the  bottom  of  the  chest,  un- 
wrapped it  from  its  covering  of  tissue  paper, 
and  handed  it  to  the  quiet  girl  opposite.  "This 
is  her,  an'  as  like  as  life!  The  same  little  hat 
on,  what  she  set  such  store  by!  I  ain't  had  the 
heart  t'  show  ye  this  before."  Janet  seized 
the  card  eagerly.  The  light  from  a  small 
window  in  the  roof  fell  full  upon  it. 

"Oh!"  she  breathed,  "she  was  —  why,  Cap'n 
Billy,  she  was  more  than  pretty!  I  think  I 
should  have  felt  her  more  if  I  had  seen  this." 

"Maybe,  Janet." 

"Am  — am  I  like  her?" 

"  Like  as  not,  if  ye  was  whiter  an'  spindlin'er, 
there 'd  be  a  likeness."     An  uneasiness  struggled 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

in  Billy's  inner  consciousness  as  he  viewed  the 
girl.     "Ye 're  more  wild-like,"  he  added. 

"I  wish  I  had  asked  a  lot  about  her,"  Janet 
whispered,  and  there  was  a  mist  in  her  eyes; 
"I  have  been  careless  just  because  I've  been 
happy.  It  seems  as  if  we  had  sort  of  pushed 
her  away,  and  kept  her  still." 

"Well,  it's  her  turn  t'  speak  now,  girl,  an' 
that's  what  I've  been  steerin'  round  t'.  Ye 're 
hers  an'  —  " 

"And  yours,  Cap'n  Billy,  even  if  you  have 
taught  me  to  say  Captain,  instead  of  Father." 

"It  was  her  word  for  me,  child,  an'  ye  added 
Daddy  of  yer  own  will.  'My  Cap'n,'  she  use  t' 
say.  It  sounded  awful  soothin';  an'  her  so 
grateful  'bout  nothin'!  Sho!  An'  she  wanted 
ye  to  be  a  help  long  o'  me.  Them  was  her 
words.  An'  Lordy!  child,  I'm  willin'  t'  work 
an'  share  with  ye  —  but  savin'  is  pretty  hard 
when  there  ain't  nothin'  much  t?  save  from,  an' 
if  this  summer-boardin'  business  is  goin'  t'  open 
up  a  chance  fur  ye,  it  ain't  cause  I  want  help, 
but  she'd  like  ye  t'  have  more  things.  Don't 
ye  see?  An'  I  jest  know  ye '11  get  yer  innin's 
on  the  mainland." 

"I  have  been  a  selfish  girl!"  Janet  mur- 
mured, holding  the  photograph  closer,  "a 
human  crab;    just  clinging  and  gripping  you. 

16 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Then  running  wild  and  fighting  against  you 
when  you  wanted  me  to  learn  to  be  useful!  1 
think,  Cap'n  Billy,  if  you  had  shown  me  —  my 
mother,  and  talked  more  of  her  —  maybe  it 
would  have  been  different.  Maybe  not," — with 
a  soft  sigh, — "I  reckon  every  one  has  to  be 
ready  for  seeing.  I  don't  just  know  how  to  — 
how  to  get  my  share  from  those  —  those 
boarders.  But  I'll  find  a  way!  I  mean  to  be 
helpful,  Cap'n.  I  can't  bring  myself  to  wait 
on  them.  Mrs.  Jo  G.  does  n't  seem  to  mind 
that,  but  I  do.  And  I  hate  to  see  them  eat  — 
in  crowds.  But  I'll  find  something  to  do. 
Put  the  clothes  in  the  carpet-bag,  Cap'n  Billy 
Daddy;  I  may  not  wear  them  over  there,  but 
I  'd  like  to  have  them.  May  I  take  the  picture  ? M 
"Yes,  only  be  powerful  careful  o'  it.  An' 
don't  show  it  round.  Somehow  she  seems  to 
belong  to  nobody  but  jest  us  two." 


CHAPTER  II 

CAPTAIN  DAVID  began  to  climb  the  long 
flight  of  iron  stairs.  It  was  his  custom 
to  start  early,  in  order  that  he  might  stop 
upon  each  landing  and  take  a  view  of  the  land 
and  water  on  his  way  up.  As  David  got  higher 
and  higher,  his  spirits  rose  in  proportion.  Be- 
low were  duty  and  care;  aloft  was  the  Light, 
that  was  his  pride  and  glory,  and  the  freedom  of 
solitude  and  silence! 

When  David  began  his  climb  —  because  it 
was  the  manner  of  the  man  to  face  life  with  a 
song  upon  his  lips  —  he  hummed  softly: 

ei  I  would  not  live  alwayy 
No,  welcome  the  tomb" 

He  paused  on  the  first  landing  and  took  in  the 
satisfying  prospect  of  his  garden,  edged  around 
by  summer  flowers  and  showing  a  thrifty  collec- 
tion of  needful  vegetables. 

"And  only  man  is  vile!"  panted  David, 
starting  upward,  and  changing  his  song.  By 
the  time  the  third  landing  was  reached  care  and 

18 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

anxiety  were  about  forgotten  and  the  outlook 
upon  the  rippling  bay  was  inspiring. 

"  And  we  put  three  shots  in  the  lobster  pots. 
Three  cheers  for  the  witches  three, 

Davy  remembered  only  snatches  of  this  song, 
but  its  hilarious  tunefulness  appealed  to  his 
state  of  feeling  on  the  third  landing,,  David 
chuckled,  gurgled,  and  puffingly  mounted 
higher. 

Looks  like  it  might  be  a  good  crab  season," 
he  muttered,  "an*  I  hope  t9  gum!  the  city  folks 
won't  trifle  with  the  isters  out  o*  season. 

*  Brightly  gleams  our  Father  s  mercy, 
From  His  lighthouse  evermore  ; 
But  to  us  — '" 

puff,  pant,  groan! 

"'He  gives  the  keepin9  of  the  lights  alon  the 
shore!999  David  had  reached  the  Light!  He 
always  timed  himself  to  the  moment.  When 
the  sun  dropped  behind  the  Hills,  David's  Light 
took  possession  of  the  coming  night! 

He  stepped  inside  the  huge  lamp,  rubbed  an 
imaginary  spot  off  the  glistening  glass,  turned 
up  the  wick  and  touched  it  with  the  ready  match. 
Then  he  came  forth  and  eyed  the  westering  sun. 

19 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

That  monarch,  riding  through  the  longest  day 
of  the  year,  was  reluctant  to  give  up  his  power; 
but  David  was  patient,,  With  hand  upon  the 
cloth  covering  he  bided  his  time.  It  was  a 
splendid  sunset.  Beyond  the  Hills  the  clouds 
were  orange-red  and  seemed  to  part  in  order 
that  the  round  sun  should  have  a  wide  course 
for  his  royal  exit.  The  shadows  were  coming 
up  out  of  the  sea.  David  felt,  rather  than 
saw,  the  purpling  light  stealing  behind  him, 
but  he  had,  for  the  present,  to  do  only  with 
the  day. 

"There  was  glory  over  all  the  land"  quoted 
the  man,  "a  flood  of  glory."  Then  the  sun 
was  gone!  On  the  instant  the  covering  was 
snatched  away,  and  David's  Light  shone  cheerily 
in  the  glory  that  at  first  obscured  it. 

"Your  turn  will  come!"  comforted  the  keeper 
as  if  to  a  friend,  "they'll  bless  ye,  come  dark- 
ness!" 

With  that  he  stepped  out  upon  the  narrow 
balcony  surrounding  the  tower,  to  "freshen  up." 

From  that  point  the  dunes,  dividing  the  ocean 
and  the  bay,  seemed  but  weak  barriers.  The 
sea  rolled  nearer  and  nearer. 

"Thus  far  and  no  farther,"  whispered  David 
reverently;  "the  Lord  don't  need  anythin' 
bigger  than  that  strip  o'  sand  to  make  His  waters 

20 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

obey  His  will.  No  mountains  could  be  safer 
than  them  dunes  when  once  the  Lord  has  set  the 
limit.  That  looks  like  the  Comrade  off  beyond 
the  P'int!"  he  went  on;  "I'll  take  my  beef  with- 
out cabbage,  if  that  ain't  Janet  a-makin'  for  the 
Light,  an'  as  late  as  this,  too!  Billy's  told  her 
'bout  the  change,  an'  she  would  n't  wait,  once 
she  was  convinced.  She  might  have  stayed  with 
Billy  till  mornin',  the  impatient  little  cuss." 

The  sailboat  was  scudding  before  the  ocean 
breeze.  Its  white  wing  was  the  only  one  upon 
the  bay,  and  David  watched  it  with  a  new 
interest. 

"  Comin'  over  t'  make  her  fortune, "  he  mut- 
tered, "comin'  over  t'  help  fleece  the  boarders! 
By  gum!  I  wonder,  knowin'  what  Billy  knows, 
an'  havm'  the  handlin'  of  a  craft  like  Janet,  he 
did  n't  hold  the  sheet  rope  pretty  snug  as  he 
headed  her  int'  this  harbor." 

The  boat  made  the  landing  without  a  jar. 
The  girl  sprang  out,  secured  the  Comrade,  then 
shouldered  a  carpet-bag,  boy-fashion,  and  came 
up  the  winding  path  toward  the  lighthouse. 
David  watched  her,  bending  over  the  railing, 
until  she  passed  within;  then  he  straightened 
himself  and  waited. 

The  purple  gloaming  came;  the  Light  took 
on  courage  and  dignity;  the  stars  shone  timidly 

21 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

as  if  apologizing  for  appearing  where  really  their 
little  glow  was  not  needed.     Then  softly: 

"Cap'n  David,  are  you  on  the  balcony  ?" 

"Who  be  ye  comin'  on  the  government 
property  without  permission?"  growled  David. 
Janet  came  out  of  the  narrow  doorway  and  flung 
her  arms  around  the  keeper's  neck. 

"Cap'n  Davy,  I've  come  off  to  be  adopted! 
I  had  to  stop  downstairs  to  make  my  room  ready 
and  pay  Susan  Jane  two  weeks  in  advance,  but 
I've  got  business  with  you  now.  Bring  out  a 
couple  of  chairs,  Cap'n,  this  is  going  to  be  a 
long  watch." 

David  paused  as  he  went  upon  the  errand. 

"The  money  is  what  sticks,  Janet.  Money 
atween  me  an*  Billy  is  a  ticklish  matter.  Don't 
lay  it  up  agin  Susan  Jane,  girl,  the  conniverin' 
in  money  ways  an'  the  Holy  Book  is  all  that 
Susan  Jane  has,  since  she  was  struck." 

"It's  all  right,  Cap'n  David,  if  it  were  only 
my  money!  And  it  soon  will  be,  Davy;  it  soon 
will  be.  I've  just  waked  up  to  the  fact  that  I 
ought  to  be  helping  along,  instead  of  hanging 
on  Cap  n  Billy.  Seventeen,  and  only  just 
waking  up!  I've  come  over  to  the  gold  mine, 
Davy,  and  I'm  going  to  do  some  digging  for 
myself." 

David  sighed  and  laughed  together;  it  was  a 

.22 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

rare  combination,  and  one  for  which  he  was 
noted.  Presently  he  came  out  with  the  chairs. 
The  two  put  their  backs  to  the  Light.  David 
took  out  his  pipe,  and  Janet,  bracing  her  feet 
against  the  railing  and  clasping  her  hands  be- 
hind her  head,  looked  up  at  the  stars.  Next  to 
Captain  Billy,  this  man  beside  her  was  her 
truest  friend. 

"Goin'  t'  help  wait  at  some  table?"  asked 
David  between  long,  heartsome  puffs. 

"Nope." 

"Maybe,  washin' ?" 

"Nope." 

"Anythin'  in  mind,  special?" 

"Yep." 

"What?" 

"I'm  going  up  to  the  Hills  and  learn  to  paint 
pictures!" 

"By  gum!" 

"Yes.  1  can  at  least  see  things  as  they  are. 
All  I  shall  have  to  do  is  to  learn  to  handle  the 
brushes  and  mix  the  paint." 

"By  gum!" 

"And,  Cap'n  David,  I  know  what  you  all 
think.  You  think  me  a  useless  kind  of  girl, 
willing  enough  to  hang  on  Cap'n  Billy  and  take 
all  he  can  give.  And  I  know  that  you  think 
him  soft  and,  maybe,  silly,  because  he  has  n't 

23 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

been  sterner  with  me.  But  you're  all  wrong! 
Cap'n  Daddy  and  I  have  n't  been  wasting  our 
time.  We've  got  awfully  close  to  each  other 
while  we've  lived  alone  and  had  only  ourselves. 
I've  been  thinking  a  long  time  of  how  I  could 
help  him  best.  I  did  n't  want  to  come  over 
and— and — what  shall  I  say?  —  well,  plunder 
the  city  folks.  That's  what  every  one  is  doing. 
Sometimes  I'm  sorry  for  them,  the  city  folks. 
It  seems  like  we  ought  to  treat  them  more 
as  visitors,  than  as  ships  that  have  been 
tossed  up." 

"Lord!"  spluttered  David  through  his  smoke; 
"they  know  how  t'  look  after  themselves." 

"Yes,  and  when  I  think  of  that,  I'm  afraid 
of  them.  They'll  get  something  out  of  us  for  all 
the  money  they  spend.  And,  Davy,  I  don't 
want  them  to  get  it  out  of  me!" 

"Get  it  out  of  you!"  David  struck  his  pipe 
on  the  railing  and  the  sparks  fell  into  the  night 
like  a  shower  of  stars.     Janet  nodded  her  head. 

"Yes,  get  it  out  of  me!  All  the  same  if  I'm 
going  to  help  make  my  living,  this  seems  the 
only  way,  so  I'm  going  in  with  the  rest.  But 
I  want  to  choose  my  own  path.  Davy,  did  you 
ever  see  my  mother  ?  Of  course  you  did !  She 
was  pretty,  but  I'm  a  lot  better  looking.  Cap'n 
Billy  's  been  telling  me  about  her." 

24 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Tellin'  ye  about  her,  all?"  David  asked 
faintly. 

"  Oh !  I  reckon  not  all ;  he  was  choking  while 
he  talked,  and  I  hated  to  ask  him  particulars. 
How  old  was  I  when  she  died,  Cap'n  Davy  ?" 

"Ye  war  n't  no  age  at  all,  child;  as  yer  little 
skiff  hove  int'  sight,  hers  set  sail.  Ye  did  n't 
any  more  than  hail  each  other  in  passin\" 

"Oh!  tell  me  more,  Davy." 

"  'Twas  an  awful  night  ye  chose,  Janet. 
Wind  off  sea,  an'  howlin'  like  mad.  Sleet  an' 
rain  minglin',  an'  porridge  ice  slammin'  ont' 
shore!  Billy  had  the  midnight  patrol,  an'  fore 
he  started  out,  he  'ranged  that  we  should  keep 
one  eye  out  toward  his  cottage,  —  I  happened 
t'  be  on  that  night, — an'  if  we  saw  a  light  in 
the  lean-to  winder,  I  was  t'  rouse  Mrs.  Jo  G. 
'Long  'bout  two,  I  saw  the  light,  an'  I  made 
tracks  for  Mrs.  Jo  G.'s.  The  wind  almost 
knocked  us  down  as  we  set  out  for  Billy's.  I 
waited  in  the  lean-to,  an'  Mrs.  Jo  G.  she  went 
int'  the  bedroom." 

"Go  on,  Cap'n  Davy.  I  wish  I  had  known 
always  about  Mrs.  Jo  G.  She  did  n't  mind  the 
storm  ?  Somehow  I  never  thought  of  her  like 
that." 

"  'Twas  only  human,  Janet,  her  an'  yer  ma 
was  the  only  females   at   the  Station.     'Long 

25 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

'bout  four,  Billy  came  a-staggerin'  in.  He  had 
seen  the  light  shinin'  in  the  winder.  He  was 
coated  over  with  ice,  ice  hangin'  to  his  beard  an' 
lashes,  but  Lord,  how  his  eyes  was  glitterin'!  I 
could  n't  say  a  blessed  thin'.  Gum!  there 
was  n't  a  thing  t'  say.  I  just  gripped  him  like  a 
looney,  an'  he  gripped  me,  an'  thar  we  stood 
a-starin'  an'  a-staring'!  'Why  don't  ye  go  in?' 
I  asked." 

"And  why  did  n't  he  ?"  Janet  was  struggling 
with  an  inclination  to  cry,  "why  didn't  he?" 
David,  fearing  he  had  ventured  upon  dangerous 
ground,  muttered: 

"He  said  he  couldn't!  Them  was  his  own 
words.  Billy  was  always  queer.  Just  then 
Mrs.  Jo  G.  came  int'  the  living  room.  She 
had  you  —  we  did  n't  know  it  then,  fur  ye  was 
just  a  round  bundle  —  in  her  arms.  Mrs.  Jo 
G.  always  speaks  to  the  p'int  when  she  does 
speak,"  Davy  continued,  "an'  all  she  said  was, 
'This  is  all  that's  left,  Cap'n  Billy  —  the 
mother's  gone!'  " 

"Oh!  my  Cap'n!"  murmured  Janet;  "and 
only  to-night  I  have  heard  this!" 

"Now  don't  take  on,  Janet!"  David  clumsily 
stroked  the  pretty  head  that  had  found  a  resting 
place  upon  the  iron  railing.  "It  was  because 
Billy  hated  any  takin'  on  that  he  kept  mum. 

26 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Him  an'  me  an'  Mrs.  Jo  G.  we  have  always 
acted  as  if  nothin'  unusual  had  happened.  Ye 
had  a  stormy  voyage,  child,  an'  Billy  wanted 
that  ye  should  have  calm,  while  he  was  in 
control." 

"Oh!  Cap'n  Billy,  my  poor  old  Daddy! 
And  I've  been  a  wild,  uncaring  girl,  David. 
Never  taking  hold  like  the  others !  Just  follow- 
ing Daddy  about,  and  being  a  burden!  And  to. 
think  it  was  —  it  was  boarders  that  aroused  me! 
Oh!  Davy,  it  makes  me  sick." 

"Now  see  here,  Janet!"  David  got  up  and 
walked  twice  around  the  little  gallery.  "  I  ain't 
a-sayin'  but  what  ye  ought  t'  be  helpin'  yerself 
an'  takin'  anxiety  off  o'  Billy:  but  I  do  say  that 
it  ain't  goin'  t'  ease  Billy  any,  if  ye  go  gallivantin' 
off  to  the  Hills  with  any  fool  notion  that  good 
looks  is  goin'  t'  help  ye." 

"They  always  help,  Cap'n  David,  always!" 
Janet's  assertion  came  through  a  muffled  sob. 
"  You  must  n't  think  I  care  for  my  looks  myself. 
I'd  just  as  soon  be  as  peaked  and  blue-white  as 
Mrs.  Jo  G.'s  Maud,  but  I  know  pretty  looks 
are  just  so  much  to  the  good  — " 

"Or  bad!"  broke  in  David. 

"Well,  have  it  that  way.  But  it  is  according 
to  how  you  use  them.  I'm  going  to  use  my 
good  looks  wisely!" 

27 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"By  gum!"  muttered  David.  This  was  his 
escape  valve.  When  other  words  failed,  "by 
gum"  eased  the  tension.  "Ye  ain't  much  on 
looks,  Janet,  when  ye  come  to  that,"  he  said 
presently.  "Ye  ain't  tidy,  nor  tasty;  ye  ain't  a 
likely  promise  fur  what  a  handy  woman  ought  t' 
be.  Yer  powerful  breezy  an'  uncertain,  an' 
yer  unlike  what  folks  is  use  t'." 
•  "Davy!"  Janet  came  in  front  of  him  and 
the  light  fell  full  upon  her.  "Davy,  you  just 
listen  and  see  how  wise  I  am!  Do  you  know 
why  the  city  folks  have  come  to  Quinton  ?  We 
never,  at  least  not  many  of  us,  saw  anything  very 
splendid  about  the  Hills,  the  dunes  and  the  bay, 
now  did  we  ?" 

"The  fact  is,  we  did  n't!" 

"Well,  these  people  are  wild  about  them 
because  they  are  unlike  the  common  things  they 
are  used  to.  I  am  like  Quinton,  Davy;  I  know 
it  way  down  in  my  heart.  You  won't  catch 
me  fixing  up  like  city  folks  and  looking  queer 
enough  to  turn  you  dizzy.  Quinton  and  I  are 
going  to  be  true  to  ourselves,  Davy,  and  you'll 
soon  see  if  my  looks  do  not  help!" 

"By  gum!"  sighed  David;  and  remembering 
his  vow  to  Billy  to  watch  over  this  girl,  he  sighed 
again  and  ordered  her  below  in  no  very  gentle 
voice. 

28 


CHAPTER  III 

JANET  was  aroused  the  next  morning  by 
hearing  Captain  David  creaking  across 
the  floor  of  the  living  room  with  his  daily' 
burden  in  his  arms.  The  girl  was  neither  deep 
asleep  nor  wide  awake.  She  was  never  uncertain 
of  her  whereabouts  or  identity,  once  she  had 
crossed  the  border  land. 

The  early  sun  was  creeping  into  the  east 
window  of  her  tiny  room  on  one  side  of  the  living 
room  of  the  lighthouse;  on  the  opposite  side 
was  Captain  David's  sleeping  apartment,  into 
which  he  carried  his  helpless  wife  every  evening 
before  he  had  to  go  up  aloft,  and  out  of  which  he 
bore  her  to  the  chintz  covered  rocker,  every 
morning  after  he  had  come  below. 

For  ten  long  years  David  had  known  this 
sorrow;  and  he  knew  that  it  was  to  be  his  until 
Death  spake  the  final  word. 

"It  seems  to  me,  David,"  the  querulous  voice 
was  saying,  "that  the  sun,  up  your  way,  rose 
mighty  late  to-day." 

"There,  there,  Susan  Jane,  'tis  the  same  old 

29 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

sun  as  rises  an'  sets  fur  all.  Had  a  bad  night, 
Susan  Jane  ?" 

"Bad  night!  that  shows  what  sympathy  you 
have  for  me,  David.  All  my  nights  are  bad. 
Bad  as  bad  can  be,  unless  they  be  worse!" 

"Well,  Susan  Jane,  let's  hope  that  a  bad  night 
argers  a  good  day.  There!  are  ye  fixed,  reason- 
ably comfortable  ?  PVaps  the  pillers  ought* 
be  a  mite  higher.  How's  that  ?  An'  now,  if 
you  want  t'  read  a  bit  I'll  fix  the  brekfus.  I  sot 
some  biscuits  overnight." 

"Give  me  the  Bible,  David,  an'  my  money 
box!  There,  open  t'  the  same  old  chapter. 
Thank  the  Lord,  that  chapter  is  all  on  one  page! 
Since  He  thought  wise  to  take  the  usefulness 
from  my  members,  I'm  glad  He  made  folks 
print  my  favorite  chapter  so  there's  no  need  of 
turnin'  over.  Land  knows,  who'd  ever  think 
of  waitin'  on  me!" 

"Come  now,  Susan  Jane,  I'm  always  willin', 
when  I  ain't  on  government  duty." 

"Government  duty  or  sleep!  Men  is  all 
alike.  How  would  you  feel  if  you  was  stricken 
like  me?" 

"Powerful  bad,  Susan  Jane,  powerful  bad. 
Ye  bear  yer  lot  uncommon  patient,  Susan  Jane; 
I'm  never  overlookin'  that.  But  if  ye  put  yer 
mind  to  it,  wife,  ye '11  see  that  if  I  do  my  duty, 

3° 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

I  must  sleep  —  some.  Howsomever,  Mark 
Tapkins  will  have  his  turn  to-night,  same  as 
usual;  an'  I  can  set  with  ye  this  evenin'.  The 
government  is  powerful  generous,  Susan  Jane, 
t'  give  this  every  other  night  shift." 

"Generous,  umph!  There,  David,  do  get 
the  meal.  I  guess  if  you  had  laid  awake  all 
night,  you'd  have  considerable  cravin'  in  yer 
stomach  fur  victuals.     I've  a  real  sinkin'." 

"Sho!  I  must  get  a  double  wriggle  on, 
Susan  Jane."  David  stumbled  over  a  stool  on 
his  way  to  the  stove;  he  was  dizzy  from  sleepi- 
ness, and  he,  too,  had  a  sensation  of  sinking. 

"Sho!  I  be  gettin'  monstrous  awkward!" 
he  muttered  apologetically;  "I  hope  I  ain't 
waked  Janet!" 

"S'pose  you  had!"  snapped  his  wife;  "you 
think  that  more  important  than  my  nerves  ?  I 
don't  more  'n  half  like  Janet  comin'  here.  If 
it  had  n't  been  fur  me,  I  know  you'd  taken  her 
fur  nothin' !  No  matter  if  I  do  have  t'  go  t'  the 
poorhouse  on  account  of  yer  shiftlessness.  I, 
stricken  an'  helpless!  She  can  come  here  fur 
nothin'!  I  jest  know,  David,  that  it  would  be 
a  real  release  fur  a  great,  strong  man  like  you 
to  be  rid  of  a  poor  stricken  wife;  but  I  guess 
you'll  have  to  bide  the  Lord's  will  whether  you 
want  t'  or  no!" 

3i 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

At  this  point  David  spilled  a  kettle  of  water 
he  was  bearing  from  the  pump,  outside  the 
door,  to  the  range. 

"By  gum!  Susan  Jane,"  he  said  cheerily, 
"I  guess  no  one  but  you  could  put  up  with  a 
blunderin'  old  feller  like  me.  Ye  better  re- 
consider an'  stay  t'  see  the  game  out.  Two 
eggs,  this  mornin',  wife,  or  one  ? " 

"Two,  David!  You  didn't  think  t'  scrimp 
me,  did  you  ?  If  one  egg  has  got  t'  be  given, 
you'd  better  begin  on  yourself,  or  Janet!" 

"Come,  come,  Susan  Jane;  there  is  two 
apiece,  an'  six  fur  company!" 

"Company!  David,  have  you  had  the  heart- 
lessness  t'  invite  company  here  without  askin' 
me  ? " 

"Lord!  Susan  Jane,  can't  ye  take  a  joke? 
I  only  meant  eggs  is  plenty.  The  draught 's 
good  this  mornin';  that's  a  sign  of  clear  weather. 
The  biscuits  is  riz  fit  t'  kill,  Susan,  I  never  had 
better  luck.  That  comes  of  havin'  a  handy 
wife  t'  train  ye." 

"I'm  glad  you  can  see  some  good  in  me, 
David!"  Susan  Jane  was  sniffling.  "I  think 
Janet  is  downright  lazy  an'  triflin'.  Lyin'  in 
bed  when  a  struck  woman  like  me  can  have 
ambition  enough  to  be  up  an'  doin'." 

"You're  one  in  a  hundred,  Susan  Jane,  but 

32 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

then  it  ain't  more'n  fair  t'  state  that  Janet's  a 
boarder,  'cordin*  t'  yer  own  placin'." 

"Ohi  that's  righto  Blame  me  fur  miserli- 
ness, an'  excuse  her  fur  slackness!  She's 
perfict:  I  'm  the  sinner!" 

"Now,  Susan  Jane!" 

"Oh!  I  can  see  through  a  person  i£  he  ain't 
too  dazzlin'!"  Susan  Jane  drank  from  the  cup 
of  coffee  that  David  held  to  her  lips.  "I  s'pose 
you9d  like  t'  take  a  tray  int'  her,  David  ?" 

"Now,  Susan  Jane,  don't  be  so  amusin'l  It 's 
wonderful  how  ye  keep  yer  spirits." 

"Spirits!  David,  I  s'pose  you're  speakin' 
sarcastic.  You  think  my  mind  ain't  right. 
You're  treatin'  me  like  a  child!"  The  woman 
turned  from  the  cup,  weeping  audibly. 

Janet  at  this  point  noiselessly  arose  and 
made  a  hurried  toilet.  Sickness,  physical  weak- 
ness of  any  kind,  was  repulsive  to  the  girl  of 
perfect  health  and  outdoor  nature;  but  one 
thing  she  realized.  While  she  stayed  at  the 
lighthouse  she  must  share  David's  burden. 
Her  sense  of  loyalty  to  David  made  this  im- 
perative. She  must  help  him  how  and  when 
she  could;  and  she  must  be  as  silent  as  he  in 
regard  to  it. 

"Good  morning!"  she  cried  presently,  going 
into   the   living   room.     "Here,   Cap'n   David, 

33 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

rake  your  place  at  the  table.  I'll  do  the  rest. 
You  won't  mind,  Susan  Jane,  will  you,  if  I  boss 
a  little  ?  I  'm  so  used  to  bossing  my  Cap'n 
Billy," 

"'T  ain't  decent  fur  a  great  girl  like  you, 
Janet,  t'  call  Billy  in  that  fashion.  Father  seems 
good  enough  for  the  other  girls  around  here." 

"I  like  my  way  better;"  Janet  smiled  over 
the  plate  of  biscuits  she  was  bearing  from  the 
range,  "I'm  saucy  and  bossy,  Susan  Jane, 
but  I've  good  points,  too.  Here,  I'll  spread 
your  biscuits  and  fix  your  eggs.  David,  you 
finish  your  breakfast  and  go  to  bed.  I'll  feed 
Susan,  and  tidy  up." 

David  cast  a  grateful  look  at  her  and  Susan 
Jane  turned  to  her  breakfast  with  an  appetite 
that  was  one  of  the  few  pleasures  left  to  her 
stricken  existence. 

All  that  morning,  to  the  accompaniment  of 
Susan  Jane's  complaints,  praise  of  herself,  and 
disapproval  of  Janet's  appearance  and  manners, 
the  girl  did  the  housework,  prepared  the  mid- 
day meal,  and  thought  her  busy  thoughts.  At 
twelve  o'clock,  David  issued  forth  from  the  bed- 
room. He  was  heavy-eyed  from  sleep  and 
dishevelled  as  to  looks. 

"By  gum!"  he  exclaimed,  going  out  to  Janet 
on  the  porch;  "I  s'pose  ye  wanted  t'  go  up  t' 

34 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

the  Hills  this  mornin',  an'  peddle  yer  good  looks 
I  clean  forgot  yer  ambitions,  I  was  that  sodden 
with  weariness." 

"  No,  Davy,  it 's  all  right.  I  want  to  get  my 
breath  first.  I'm  going  to  Bluff  Head  this 
afternoon.  I  may  not  have  many  more  chances. 
I  hear  Bluff  Head  is  going  to  be  opened,  too." 

"Yes:  Mr.  Devant  sent  word  down  to  Eliza 
Jane  Smith  t'  have  the  place  ready,  bidin'  the 
time  he  might  come.  But  seems  like  I  heard 
that  Eliza  Jane  ain't  goin'  t'-day.  She  's  takin' 
washin'  in  fur  the  boarders  an'  makin'  money  out 
of  it.  Eliza  Jane  '11  get  top  lofty  if  she  finds 
she  ain't  naturally  dependent  on  James  B.  It 
don't  do  fur  some  women  t'  know  their  wuth." 

Janet  laughed. 

"It  helps  others!"  she  answered  lightly. 

When  the  dinner  dishes  were  disposed  of, 
Janet  took  her  sunbonnet  and  started  off  for 
Bluff  Head.  The  day  was  hot  and  the  road 
dusty.  The  sunbonnet,  as  a  feminine  requisite 
of  old  Quinton,  was  desirable;  but  Janet  swung 
hers  from  her  arm,  thereby  satisfying  Mrs. 
Grundy's  demands  and  not  interfering  with  her 
own  rights.  At  one  o'clock,  in  the  Quinton  of 
that  day,  the  city  boarders  were  eating  en  masse, 
and  the  Quintonites,  in  various  capacities,  were 
serving  them;  so  the  girl  on  the  highway  had  the 

35 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

place  to  herself.  The  lighthouse  rose  red  and 
gleaming  from  Cap'n  David's  garden  spot;  the 
bay,  blue  and  rippling,  spread  in  and  out  of  its 
tiny  sub-bays  where  the  land  stretched  like  five 
fingers  of  a  hand,  with  the  blue  water  in  between. 
To  the  west  lay  the  Hills  in  their  "artistic 
desolation,"  and  to  the  north  of  them  The  Bluff, 
with  Mr.  Devant's  long-closed  house  gracing 
the  summit.  It  mattered  little  to  Janet  whether 
Eliza  Jane  Smith  was  in  command  of  Bluff 
Head  or  not.  The  past  would  never  have  been 
as  sweet  as  Janet  knew  it,  had  she  depended 
upon  Eliza  Jane's  movements  to  govern  her 
ingress  and  egress  to  the  place. 

Going  rapidly  along,  the  girl  presently  came 
to  the  grounds  of  the  big  house.  Years  ago 
attempts  at  landscape  gardening  had  been 
indulged  in,  while  the  master  of  the  place  fan- 
cied to  pass  his  summers  there,  but  years  of 
recent  neglect  had  all  but  obliterated  the  marks 
of  culture.  Wildness  was  over  all,  but  it  was 
the  wildness  of  former  refinement. 

Past  the  sundial  ran  the  girl,  and  around  to 
the  rear  of  the  house.  Then  she  burrowed 
under  a  dense  rosebush  and  pushed  her  way 
through  a  basement  window,  almost  hidden  by 
the  undergrowth,  the  sash  of  which  swung  in- 
ward at  the  familiar  pressure. 

36 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

It  was  but  a  moment's  work  to  scramble 
through,  and  then  run  up  the  dark,  disused 
stairway.  The  place  had  a  mouldy  smell,  but 
it  was  neat  and  orderly,  and  the  weekly  airings- 
given  by  Eliza  Jane,  saved  it  from  dampness- 
The  silence  and  absence  of  human  nearness 
might  well  have  daunted  one;  but  Janet,  the 
only  living  thing,  apparently,  in  the  deserted 
house,  felt  no  qualms.  She  went  directly  to 
the  library:  there  was  little  else  of  interest  in 
the  place  to  her.  For  years  this  spot  had  been 
her  secret  treasure  nook.  When,  as  a  little 
child,  she  had  entered  the  place  with  Eliza 
Jane,  it  was  not  as  other  children,  but  with  an 
inborn  yearning  to  see  and  touch  those  wonder- 
ful rows  of  books.  She  was  permitted  to  dust 
those  she  could  reach,  and  her  touch  was  rever- 
ent and  gentle.  The  pictures  had  at  first 
fascinated  her;  later,  the  district  school  teach- 
ing had  given  her  power  to  understand  the 
words;  then  had  dawned  the  new  heaven  and 
the  new  earth.  Like  a  miser  with  his  gold, 
she  guarded  her  joy.  She  discovered  the  un- 
fastened window  and  timed  her  visits  when 
she  was  sure  of  privacy;  and  so  she  had  trod, 
undirected  and  like  the  wild  creature  she  was, 
the  paths  of  literature. 

The  Devant  library,  gathered  through  genera- 

37 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

tions,  was  stored  in  the  country  house  that  had 
originally  been  built  as  a  family  home.  But 
the  sons  of  the  race  were  rovers  and  often  years 
would  slip  by  without  a  personal  inspection. 
James  B.  and  Eliza  Jane  were  the  guardians, 
and  there  was  little  need  of  a  master's  anxiety 
while  those  two  were  in  command. 

Janet  glanced  about  the  library  and  her  face 
grew  radiant.  She  inhaled  long  breaths.  The 
odor  of  the  leather  and  old  paper  thrilled  her. 
She  mounted  the  little  steps  and  took  a  book, 
with  unerring  touch,  from  the  fifth  shelf,  then 
she  sprang  lightly  to  the  floor  and  went  with 
her  prize  to  the  shelter  of  a  deep  bay-window. 
Softly  she  raised  the  sash  and  drew  in  the  sweet- 
ness of  the  June  day. 

"It's  good!"  she  murmured;  "heavenly 
good!"  Then  she  nestled  among  the  cushions 
on  the  window  seat,  and,  shielded  by  the  heavy 
curtains  from  the  emptiness  of  the  room,  she 
entered  her  paradise. 

The  key  that  opened  the  gateway  was  a  rare 
edition  of  Shakespeare;  the  play,  "  Romeo  and 
Juliet."  A  tiny  scrap  of  paper  marked  the  place 
of  the  last  reading.  The  girl's  eyes,  blue  now 
as  the  summer  sky,  fell  upon  the  words  of 
delight,  and  instantly  Quinton  was  forgotten, 
Quinton,  and  all  its  familiar  worries  and  small 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

pleasures.  Janet  of  the  Dunes  was  Juliet  of 
Italy. 

A  crunching  of  gravel  upon  the  driveway 
startled  the  girl  cruelly.  "I  believe  I  have  a 
key,  Saxton,"  said  a  deep,  firm  voice;  "yes: 
here  it  is,  I  can  let  myself  in.  Drive  back  to 
the  station  and  wait  for  the  baggage  train.  See 
that  everything  is  carefully  loaded  on  the  wagon 
from  the  livery.  You  can  get  me  a  bite  when 
you  return.  Stop  at  the  Corners  and  bring 
back  enough  food  for  to-night;  to-morrow  we'll 
set  up  housekeeping.  I'll  make  myself  com- 
fortable.    And  oh!  Saxton!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Stop  at  the  post  office  and  ask  for  mail." 

Janet's  blood  rose  hotly. 

"Caught!"  she  whispered;  then  she  smiled 
feebly.  She  could  not  see  the  speaker;  he  was 
at  the  front  of  the  house.  She  heard  the  wheels 
outside  turn  and  go  rapidly  away.  A  grating 
of  the  lock  of  the  long  unopened  front  door 
sounded  next:  then  a  rapid  stride  brought  the 
stranger  to  the  library! 

"Rather  a  quiet  welcome  home!"  The  man, 
believing  himself  alone,  spoke  aloud  and  laughed 
unconcernedly. 

"There's  always  a  feeling  of  companionship 
in  books.     Everything  looks  in  good  condition." 

39 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

He  gave  a  comprehensive  glance  around  the 
room. 

This  was  no  stranger,  but  the  master  of 
Bluff  Head! 

When  Janet  was  six  she  had  last  seen  this 
man,  and  he  had  changed  less  since  then  than 
had  she.  From  her  shelter  she  eyed  him  as  he 
flung  travelling  coat,  hat,  and  dress-suit  case 
upon  a  divan  and  himself  in  a  deep  leather 
chair.  He  was  tall,  handsome,  and  elegant. 
The  iron  gray  head  pressing  the  chair-back  was 
one  to  draw  the  second  glance  from  a  stranger 
as  a  matter  of  course.  The  clear,  blue-gray 
eyes  took  in  the  walls  lined  with  books.  The 
white  hands,  clasped  in  front  of  the  broad  chest, 
showed  nerve  force  and  strength. 

Janet,  trapped  and  desperate,  first  contem- 
plated a  leap  from  the  open  window,  but  that 
method  of  exit  was  discarded  upon  second 
thought.  It  would  definitely  end  all  further 
expectation  of  reaching  the  world  of  books! 
While  there  was  hope  in  other  directions,  she 
must  choose  more  sanely.  She  ventured  a 
cough.  So  slight  a  sound  in  that  silence  might 
well  have  shaken  the  strongest  nerves.  The 
man  in  the  chair,  however,  did  not  move,  but 
his  eyes  fell  instantly  upon  the  alcove.  The 
parted  curtains,  now  that  the  girl  raised  her- 

40 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

self  forward,  gave  a  full  view  of  the  slight  form 
and  vivid  face.  The  calm  eyes  from  the  chair 
wavered  an  instant  and  the  nostrils  twitched, 
then  the  man  laughed  carelessly. 

"Won't  you  come  out  and  be  friendly?" 
he  said. 

"Thank  you."  Janet  came  forth,  book  in 
hand,  with  eyes  full  of  amusement.  There  was 
an  awkward  pause  while  the  man  gazed  steadily 
at  her.     Then  Janet  spoke. 

"I,  I  suppose  you've  come  now,  to  stay?" 
It  sounded  brusque  and  unmannerly,  but  it 
was  the  only  remark  that  occurred  to  her. 

"I  had  thought  of  making  rather  a  stay," 
—  the  eyes  rested  upon  the  bright  face, — 
"however,  possession  is  nine-tenths  of  the  law. 
If  you  say  the  word  I'll  skedaddle!" 

"Oh!"  panted  Janet,  "I  pray  you  pardon 
me!"  The  sentence  sounded  Shakespearean  in 
the  gathering  confusion.  "  I  only  thought  —  do 
you  not  see  ?  I  suppose  you  are  Mr.  Devant 
and  I  knew  you  would  end  —  end  — " 

"What,  pray?  I'm  not  uncompromisingly 
final.  I've  been  known  to  let  things  run 
on." 

"Why,  you  see,  I've  been  in  the  habit  for 
years  of  crawling  in  your  cellar  window,  com- 
ing  up    here    and  —  reading    your    books!     I 

41 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

began  it  when  I  was  a  very  little  girl;  it's  come 
to  be  a  kind  of  habit." 

The  man  laughed  with  keen  relish. 

"You  quite  flatter  me,  Miss  —  Miss  —  ?"  he 
paused. 

"  Oh !  Janet.  Janet  of  the  Dunes,  you  know, 
Cap'n  Billy's  Janet.  You  may  not  remember 
me,  but  I  saw  you  once,  years  and  years  ago. 
I  was  at  the  Light,  David's  Light;  you  came 
visiting  there,     I  called  you  Mr.  Government!" 

"Miss  Janet,  do  take  a  seat!  Permit  me!" 
He  arose  and  with  courtly  grace  placed  a  chair 
for  his  companion.  "I  recall  you  perfectly. 
The  mistake  you  made  in  my  name  came  to  be 
a  joke  and  byword  after  I  went  home.  You 
saw  me  snooping  around  the  Light  and  thought 
I  was  the  Government,  inspecting  Captain 
David's  domain.  It  all  comes  to  me  quite 
clearly.  I  remember,  you  put  your  back 
against  a  certain  closet  and  intimated  in  no 
doubtful  language  that  it  was  private  property. 
You  were  a  bewitching  small  child,  Miss  Janet, 
if  you  will  pardon  an  old  man's  freedom  of 
speech.  I  am  delighted  to  renew  our  acquaint- 
ance." Janet  flushed.  "I  presume,  counting 
upon  your  memory  of  my  inspection  of  the 
lighthouse,  you  felt  free  to  inspect  my  house. 
Are  the  books  to  your  taste,  Miss  Janet  ?" 

42 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"They  have  been  my  greatest  joy  in  all  these 
years."  A  serious  tone  and  a  sudden  moisture 
of  the  blue  eyes  touched  the  man.  He  spoke 
in  a  sincerer  manner,  looking  more  sharply  at 
the  glowing  face. 

"You  are  a  book-lover  by  nature,  I  see." 

"Yes,  I  never  see  a  book  but  I  feel  as  I  do 
when  I  stand  by  the  sea  on  a  foggy  morning. 
I  can  see  nothing,  but  I  know  that  everything 
lies  hidden  in  the  fog.  I  wonder  what  kind 
of  a  day  lies  there,  and  what  the  day  bears. 
So  it  is  with  a  book,  I  open  the  covers,  —  and 
the  fog  slowly  melts  away!" 

"Yes."  A  smell  of  the  sea  stole  into  the  open 
window  and  the  man  took  a  long  breath.  "You 
have  read  wisely,  I  hope  ?"  he  said. 

"I  began  with  the  pictures.  Then  I  spelled 
out  the  words  in  the  books  on  the  bottom 
shelf;  I've  worked  my  way  up.  I'm  on  the 
fifth  shelf  by  the  door  now.  I  do  not  seem 
to  be  able  to  get  any  further  than  this  — " 
She  passed  the  book  to  him.  "I've  been  at 
this  book  three  whole  months!  I  sort  of 
hoped  —  please  forgive  me,  but  I  sort  of 
hoped  —  I  might  get  to  the  sixth  shelf  before 
you  came  back!" 

"Shakespeare!"  mused  the  master  of  Bluff 
Head,  "and  he's  held  you  three  months,  Miss 

43 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Janet,  after  you've  waded  through  heaven  only 
knows  what?" 

"Yes:  he  makes  me  forget  everything.  I 
cannot  explain,  only  he  sings  to  me,  and  he  talks 
to  me,  and  he  makes  me  a  hundred  people  all 
in  one." 

"Miss  Janet,  heaven  forbid!  that  a  mere 
master  of  Bluff  Head  should  close  the  gates  to 
this  Genius'  Eden  to  such  a  lover  as  you! 
Allow  me,"  He  handed  out  the  key  that  had 
given  him  entrance  to  his  home.  "  Permit  me  to 
give  you  royal  freedom  to  what,  surely,  is  more 
yours  than  mine.  A  cellar  window  has  been 
honored  enough;  the  doorway  is  not  wide  enough 
for  so  true  a  worshipper/' 

"I  do  not  understand  you!  I  fear  you  are 
laughing  at  me." 

"Heaven  save  us!  No,  my  child,  I  mean 
simply  this.  Come  at  your  own  sweet  will  and 
read  to  your  heart's  content.  If  you  will 
graciously  permit  me,  I  most  gladly  will  wander 
with  you  through  these  — "  He  waved  his  hand 
toward  the  shelves.  "I  may  be  able  to  point 
out  some  new  pleasure-paths;  I  am  certain  you 
can  make  me  love  old  ones  better.  If  I  am  absent 
from  Bluff  Head,  I  will  leave  orders  that  you 
are  to  be  undisturbed  while  you  honor  this  room* 
I  trust  my  old  friend  of  the  Light  is  well  ? " 

44 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Yes.     But,  oh!  how  can  I  thank  you  ?" 

"  By  returning,  my  dear  child !  There  I  hear 
Saxton,  how  the  time  has  flown!"  He  arose 
and  Janet  slipped  to  her  feet,  and  passed  from 
the  room.     Devant  called  after  her. 

"Good  bye,  for  the  present,  Janet  of  the 
Dunes!"     For  a  moment  the  girl  paused. 

"Good  bye,  Mr.  Government !"  she  replied, 
and  was  gone,  leaving  a  trailing  ripple  of 
laughter  as  a  memory  of  the  strange  meeting. 


45 


CHAPTER   IV 

*  TANET,  where  you  goin'  ?" 

"Over  to  the  Hills,  Susan  Jane.'* 
**      "Everythin'  rid  up?" 

u  Everything." 

"I  never  felt  my  powerlessness  so  much  as  I 
have  since  you  come." 

"I'm  sorry,  Susan  Jane.  It  must  be  hard  to 
see  others  active,  if  one  is  tied  as  you  are.  Try 
not  to  look  at  me." 

"Not  look  at  you?  Huh!  Gals  need 
watchin'.  I  know  it  would  suit  more'n  you, 
like  as  not,  if  I'd  been  struck  blind  as  well  as 
helpless.  But  I  ain't  blind.  I  see  all  that 's 
goin',  an'  more,  too!"  Janet  sighed.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  Light,  below  stairs,  was 
depressing. 

"What 's  Mark  Tapkins  hangin'  round  fur  ?" 

"  It  was  his  turn  at  the  Light  last  night, 
Susan  Jane." 

"Land  sake!  I  know  that.  Didn't  I  hear 
David  snorin'  fit  t'  bust,  till  mornin'  ?  But 
Mark  did  n't  use  t'  lap  his  turn  clear  on  t'  the 

46 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

next  forenoon.  Janet,  do  you  know  what  I 
think?" 

"No,  Susan  Jane." 

"I  think  Mark  Tapkins  is  shinin'  up  t'  you!" 

"Do  you,  Susan  Jane?"  Janet  was  strug- 
gling with  her  hair. 

"Yes,  I  do.  An'  I  feel  it's  my  place  t'  tell 
you  that  it  ain't  a  bad  chance  fur  you.  Mark's 
a  steady,  slow  fellow,  but  he  ain't  lackin'. 
You're  dreadful  giddy  an'  don't  take  t'  house 
ways.  Mark's  father  is  the  best  housekeeper 
I  know  on.  He's  sort  of  daft;  but  all  the  sense 
he  has  left  is  gone  t'  cookin'  an'  managin'  a 
house.  He  ain't  old  an'  the  soft-headed  kind 
last  longer  than  keener  folks:  it  would  fit  int' 
your  ways  right  proper.  Mrs.  Jo  G.'s  girl 
could  n't  stand  it.  She  is  so  brisk  an'  contrivin', 
an'  Mrs.  Jo  G.,  being  right  here  on  hand,  has 
hopes  of  workin'  Maud  Grace  off  on  some 
boarder;  but  you  ain't  got  nobody  t'  pilot  you, 
Janet,  an'  you're  queer  an'  unlikely,  'cept  in 
looks,  an'  some  doubts  the  worth  of  them!  As 
long  as  Mark  is  leanin'  toward  you,  I  think 
it  my  duty  to  head  you  toward  him." 

"Thank  you,  Susan  Jane,  but  I'll  pilot 
myself,  please."  The  girl's  face  showed  an 
angry  flush.  "Shall  I  open  the  Bible  for  you 
before  I  go  ? " 

47 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Yes;  you  know  the  place  ?" 

"It  falls  open  to  the  page,  Susan  Jane." 

"Thank  you.  An*  please  put  the  money 
box  where  I  can  see  it.  Was  it  one  or  two 
weeks  you  paid  fur?" 

"Two,  Susan  Jane.  Now  I  must  be  ofR 
Tell  David  not  to  wait  dinner." 

"Wait  dinner!"  sniffed  Susan  Jane;  "well, 
listen  t'  them  airs!  Wait  dinner!  I'd  like  t' 
see  any  one,  boarder  or  saucy  jade,  as  would 
make  me  wait  dinner!"  Janet  had  fled  before 
the  rising  storm. 

"There  she  goes,  sails  set  an*  full  rigged,  an' 
Mark  Tapkins  followin'  on  ahind  like  a  little, 
lopsided  tug  after  an  ocean  steamer!" 

Poor  helpless  Susan  Jane  looked  after  the 
two,  all  her  irritable,  action-checked  misery 
breaking  through  her  eyes. 

"Lord!"  she  moaned,  "I  don't  want  t'  live; 
an'  yet  fur  all  I  know,  this  may  be  better 'n 
nothin'!  I  don't  want  t'  be  nothin'l  Jest 
lookin'  on  is  better  than  that!" 

Janet,  striding  along  the  wood-path  beyond 
the  Light,  heard  the  shambling  steps  behind  her. 
She  turned  and  saw  Mark.  He  was  tall  and  lank. 
He  leaned  forward  from  the  shoulders  loosely, 
and  his  face  had  the  patient,  dull  expression 
of  a  faithful,  but  none  too  fine  breed,  dog. 

48 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Where  are  you  going,  Mark?"  The  girl 
turned. 

"'Long  o'  you,  Janet.  I've  —  I've  got  t' 
say  something" 

"Oh!  please  don't,  Mark.  I've  been  hearing 
things  since  sun-up,  and  you've  been  in  the  Light 
all  night.  You  are  in  no  condition  to  say  things." 

"Yes:  I  be,  too,  Janet.  I  always  feel  keener 
after  a  night  awake.  Since  I've  sot  up  in  the 
Light  I've  been  considerable  spryer,  or  maybe 
it's  you!" 

Janet  heaved  a  sigh.  "Mark,"  she  pleaded, 
"there  is  n't  an  earthly  thing  you  can  say  that 
I  want  to  hear  this  morning.  I  'm  going  to  the 
Hills  on  business,  and  I  must  be  as  calm  as 
I  can!" 

"It's  them  Hills,  as  has  made  me  come  t' 
the  p'int.  Them  Hills  is  bristlin'  with  city 
folks,  men  an'  women!  I've  heard  what  you're 
aimin'  at.  Goin'  up  t'  the  Hills  t'  get  a  job 
of  some  sort!  Yer  innercint,  an'  yer  a  gal, 
Janet,  an'  I'm  a  man  an'  I've  spent  six  months 
in  the  city  an'  I  know  its  ways,  an'  I  know  men ! 
Yer  too  good  lookin',  Janet,  t'  mix  up  with 
what's  on  the  Hills." 

The  mixture  of  foolishness  and  wisdom,  the 
effort  to  protect  in  man-fashion  what  was  weak, 
moved  Janet  strangely. 

49 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Mark,"  she  faltered,  "you  need  not  be 
afraid.  I  know  I  do  not  understand,  and  that 
helps.  If  I  thought  I  did,  there  might  be 
danger.  It's  just  the  same  as  if  I  were  James  B. 
going  up  there  to  peddle  —  well  —  clams!  You 
need  not  fear  a  bit  more  for  me  than  for  him." 

Mark  gazed  stupidly  at  the  glowing  face. 

"I  guess  I  must  love  you!"  he  said  at  last. 
"Things  come  kinder  slow  t'  me.  I  was  alius 
one  t'  drift  'long  with  the  tide;  but  when  I 
plump  int'  a  rock  I  get  some  jarred,  same  as 
others.  I  went  t'  the  city  that  time  t'  see  if 
I  could  get  my  bearin's  at  a  distance;  but  when 
I  come  back  I  sorter  lost  the  channel  an'  took 
agin  t'  driftin'.  But  this  here  Hills  business 
has  livened  me  up  considerable.  Did  you  ever 
think  what  I  left  Pa  fur  an'  went  t'  the  city, 
Janet?" 

"I  thought  you  wanted  to  see  the  world, 
Mark." 

"Well,  I  did  n't.  Quinton  is  world  'nough 
fur  me.  I  went  t'  see  if  I  could  git,  off  there 
alone,  a  proper  sense  of  jest  what  I  did  want. 
I  wanted  t'  choose  a  course  fur  myself,  in- 
dependent of  Pa,  but  save  us!  I  hankered 
arter  Pa  so,  an'  I  came  nigh  t'  perishin'  fur 
his  cookin'.  I  come  nigher,  though,  t'  perishin' 
frtim  tryin'  t'  get  somethin'  like  it  once,  while 

5° 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

I  was  away!"  A  gleam  of  thin  humor  crossed 
the  dull  face. 

"What  was  that  ?"  Janet  asked,  thankful  for 
any  side  path  that  led  away  frorrtthe  danger  point. 

"  Crullers !"  Mark  laughed  a  rattling,  un- 
mirthful  laugh.  "Crullers.  I  got  thinkin'  of 
Pa's  one  day;  an'  I  went  to  a  pasty  shop  an'  I 
says,  'Have  you  got  crullers  I'  The  gal  behind 
the  counter  says,  'Yes:  how  many?'  I,  re- 
callin'  Pa's,  an'  feelin'  weak  in  the  pit  of  my 
stomach  frum  hunger,  I  answered  back,  'Three 
dozen!'  The  gal  leaped  back  a  step;  then  she 
hauled  out  a  bag  'bout  the  size  of  a  bushel  an' 
begins  shovellin'  in  round,  humpy  things,  most 
all  hole  in  the  centre  but  considerable  sizable 
as  t'  girth.  I  was  up  t'  city  ways  by  then,  an' 
I  war  n't  goin'  t'  show  any  surprise  if  she'd 
loaded  an  ister  boat  full  of  cakes  on  me.  So  I 
paid  up  'thout  a  word  an'  went  out  of  the  shop 
shoulderin'  the  bag.  It  took  me  'bout  a  week 
t'  get  rid  of  them  crullers,"  groaned  Mark;  "an' 
I've  told  Pa  since  I  come  back,  that  he  better 
learn  to  make  city  crullers  fur  the  city  trade 
this  summer.  Countin'  holes  an*  puffy  air, 
they  pay  better  than  Pa's  solid  little  cakes." 

Janet  was  laughing  merrily. 

"Why,  Mark!"  she  said  presently,  "you've 
got   an  idea.    Tell  your  father  to  make  his 

51 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

crullers  for  the  city  trade.  He'll  make  his 
fortune.  Put  a  sign  on  your  gate  and  teach  the 
boarders  what  crullers  really  are!" 

Mark  was  not  heeding. 

"I  vum!"  he  went  on  presently,  "while  I  was 
down  t'  the  city,  what  with  poor  food  an'  not 
'nough  of  it,  an'  homesickness  fit  t'  kill,  I  thought 
I  seed  my  course  clear.  I  had  a  job  openin' 
isters;  an'  I  worked,  I  kin  tell  you!  'Bout  all 
the  city  folks  eat  isters  an'  I  seed  a  good  bit  of 
life  down  at  my  shop,  an'  I  learned  city  ways 
an'  badness!  Then  I  got  sick  an'  come  home, 
thinkin'  I  was  ready  t'  settle  down,  an'  then  I 
got  t'  driftin'  an'  so  it  went  till  now.  An'  when 
I  heerd  'bout  you  goin'up  t'  the  Hills  an'knowin' 
what  I  do  'bout  city  ways,  I  just  reasoned  out 
that  I  must  love  you,  else  I  would  n't  mind  so 
much.  I  ain't  no  great  shucks,  but  I  can 
watch  you,  an'  no  one  sha'n't  harm  you;  an' 
Pa's  more'n  willin'  t'  see  t'  the  house,  an'  cook, 
no  matter  who  comes  in  as  my  wife;  an'  you 
kin  run  wild,  an'  no  one  will  have  the  right  t' 
hinder,  an'  I'll  stand  off  an'  watch,  an'  that's 
somethin'!" 

"Oh,  Mark,  please,  please  don't!"  The 
poor  fellow's  dumb  effort  to  protect  her  was 
an  added  heartache  to  carry  to  the  Hills. 
"You  must  not,  Mark,  dear.     You  don't  want 

5* 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

a  woman  to  watch ;  you  want  one  to  watch  with 
you,  one  whom  you  love  and  who  loves  you. 
Put  that  sign  out  for  crullers,  Mark,  I  know 
you  can  make  money,  and  some  day  a  good, 
helpful  girl  will  come  your  way." 

"No,  Janet,"  —  Mark's  patient  voice  sank 
drearily,  —  "if  you  won't  let  me  watch  over 
you,  I'll  watch  without  yer  leave.  I  won't 
bother  you  none,  but  I  thank  God  I  've  got  city 
ways  t'  meet  city  ways!  I'm  plum  'shamed  of 
the  way  our  gals  is  actin'  with  the  boarders. 
I'm  a  good  watcher,  Janet!" 

They  had  come  to  the  dividing  of  the  ways. 

"Can't  I  go  on,  Janet?" 

"No,  Mark,  you  must  go  home  and  sleep!" 

"Good  bye,  Janet,  till  t'-morrer!" 

"Good  bye,  Mark!"  She  watched  the 
slouching  figure  out  of  sight. 

"With  all  my  watchers,"  she  faltered,  "I 
feel  like  a  ship  riding  near  the  bar,  with  the 
crew's  eyes  upon  it!"  And  then  she  went,  less 
courageously,  on  the  upward  way. 

The  path  ran  up  hill  and  down  dale,  with 
always  a  steady  rise.  The  water  of  the  bay 
lay  blue  and  smiling  roundabout  the  Hills: 
the  scrub  oak,  the  blueberries,  the  luxuriant 
wild  rose,  and  variegated  grasses  made  color 
so  exquisite  and  rare,  that  the  only  wonder  was 

53 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

that  the  Hills  were  not  crowded  with  ador- 
ing Nature-worshippers.  The  never-ceasing 
breeze  came  caressingly  over  the  flower-strewn 
stretches.  Nothing  stayed  its  course,  and 
there  was  health-giving  tonic  in  its  breath. 

Beyond,  where  Brown  Brother  raised  its 
superior  height,  the  artist  colony  had  pitched 
its  tents.  Toward  that  settlement,  with  her 
daring  request,  Janet  walked.  As  she  neared 
it,  her  brave  heart  grew  weak  and  weaker. 
How  was  she  to  word  her  proposition  ?  What 
was  she  to  offer  in  return  for  instruction  that 
was  to  help  her  to  fame  and  fortune  ?  She 
feared  every  moment  that  she  might  meet  a 
little  wagon  drawn  by  a  sunbonneted,  long- 
aproned  woman,  or  a  man  not  less  picturesque. 
She  sat  down  to  consider;  then,  to  make  thought 
easier,  she  lay  at  full  length,  closing  her  eyes 
and  dreaming  luxuriously.  The  summer  day 
lured  her  senses  deliciously.  Even  the  late 
experience  with  Mark  was  mellowed  by  the 
present  delight.  The  memory  of  the  recent 
encounter  with  the  master  of  Bluff  Head  stirred 
her  pulses  to  a  quicker  time.  Ah,  life  was 
glorious!  Life  was  full,  in  spite  of  all.  It  was 
like  the  sea  in  a  fog  or  an  unopened  book.  She 
had  only  to  wait  and  smile  and  love,  and  life 
would  expand  into  a  perfect  day. 

54 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Something  drew  the  girl  to  a  sitting  posture; 
a  nameless  fear  was  upon  her.  She  glanced 
around,  and  near  her,  upon  a  knoll,  sat  a  man, 
a  young  man!  No  little  wagon  put  its  seal 
upon  his  calling,  but  the  broad  hat,  set  well  back 
from  the  handsome  face,  had  a  distant  but 
fatal  mark  of  the  artist  colony  upon  it.  The 
stranger  had  a  board  firmly  placed  upon  his 
knees,  and  even  as  he  gazed  at  Janet  with  a 
devouring  intensity  he  was  working  rapidly 
with  a  long,  slim  brush. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  The  question  was 
torn  from  the  girl  without  reason  or  fore- 
thought. 

"Painting  a  picture!"  The  voice  was  sol- 
emn, almost  to  absurdity. 

"A  picture  of  what?"  Outraged  imagina- 
tion arose  to  the  fore. 

"The  Spirit  of  the  Dunes.  Keep  still  a 
minute;  then  I'll  let  you  see  it  if  you  want  to." 

"Yes:  I  do  want  to."  Dignity  of  a  new 
order  was  born  within  Janet  at  that  instant. 

This  probably  was  a  lesser  being  than  the 
wagon-loaded  geniuses.  Their  work  was  not 
unknown  to  the  girl  nor  had  it  escaped  her 
scorn.  If  this  meaner  devotee  of  art  had 
mangled  her  into  a  hideous  likeness  of  herself, 
she  would  resent  it,  and  with  reason.     Slowly 

55 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

she  arose  and  went  up  behind  the  man.  What 
she  saw  stayed  anger  and  all  other  emotions 
save  wonder.  Surely  the  Hills,  with  all  their 
real  color  and  outline,  were  ensnared  upon  that 
square  of  paper!  Never  was  there  a  truer 
reflection  of  the  bay.  Janet  could  almost  feel 
the  breeze  that  swayed  the  scrub  oaks  and  wild 
roses  in  the  picture.  But  that  marvel  was  the 
least.  Who,  what  was  that  in  the  soft  dimple 
of  the  little  hill  ?  A  being  of  grace,  of  beauty, 
and  of  a  wildness  that  was  part  of  the  Hills  and 
wind ! 

In  the  final  estimate  of  any  picture  two 
artists  must  bear  part,  the  one  who  has  wrought 
and  the  one  who  appreciates!  These  two 
looked  now  upon  the  exquisite  sketch. 

"How  do  you  like  it?"  The  man  did  not 
turn  or  raise  his  eyes,  but  his  voice  brought  the 
quick  color  to  the  smooth,  brown  cheeks. 

"Do  —  do  —  /  look  like  that  ?" 

"As  near  as  mere  man  can  reproduce  you. 
If  I  had  a  magic  brush  and  heaven's  own 
paint  pots,  I  believe  I  could  have  done  better. 
I  wish  you  had  stayed  a  half  hour  longer,  but 
thank  God,  I've  at  least  caught  a  hint  of  you!" 

"I  —  look  —  like  —  that!"  Amazement 
thrilled  through  and  through  the  low  voice. 

"You  —  look  —  like  — that!       And    I   am 

56 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

grateful  for  the  best  criticism  I  could  ask. 
What 's  the  matter  ?  What  in  thunder  is  the 
matter?" 

For  Janet  had  sunk  down  beside  him,  hid  her 
head  in  her  folded  arms,  and  was  sobbing  as  if 
her  heart  would  break. 

"What  —  in  —  I  say!  Miss  —  Miss  — 
What  shall  I  call  you  ?  For  heaven's  sake,  tell 
me  what  I've  done  ?" 

"Oh!  you've  dashed  every  bit  of  hope  I  had 
to  —  to  earn  money  —  and  —  and  fame  —  for 
Cap'n  Daddy  and  me!" 

The  young  artist  laid  his  sketch  tenderly 
aside  to  dry.  It  was  too  precious  to  endanger, 
even  in  this  disturbed  moment.  Once  it  was 
safe,  he  stood  his  full  height  of  six  feet  two,  put 
his  hands  in  his  jacket  pockets,  looked  down 
upon  the  heaving  body  of  the  Spirit  of  the 
Dunes,  and  said  firmly: 

"You've  got  to  explain  yourself,  you  know. 
I  don't  want  to  use  force,  but  really  you  must 
look  me  in  the  face  and  try  to  make  me  under- 
stand." 

Janet  lowered  her  hands  at  once  and  gazed 
upward  with  her  eyes  full  of  distress  and 
apology. 

"I  do  not,  know  what  you  will  think  of  me! 
I'm  ashamed,  indeed  I  am.     But,  well,  you 

57 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

cannot  understand.  I  never  minded  so  much 
when  I  saw  the  things  —  the  others  did !  Their 
pictures  did  n't  look  like  anything  real  — 
anything  like  our  dunes  and  the  Hills,  and 
I  thought  I  could  learn,  at  least,  to  do  such 
pictures  as  theirs,  and  get  money!  But  you've 
shown  me  —  another  kind !  I  can  never,  never 
learn  to  make  such  pictures  as  that!"  Her 
sorrowful  gaze  fell  upon  the  sketch,  drying  near 
by.  "And,  you  —  you  seem  to  be  taking 
something  away  from  us.  Something  that  is 
ours,  not  yours  at  all!  What  right  have  you  to 
take  the  Hills  —  and  me,  without  paying  well 
for  the  privilege  ?" 

During  this  harangue  the  man  had  stood 
motionless,  gazing  in  growing  astonishment 
upon  the  radiant  uplifted  face  which  was  swept 
by  passion's  clouds,  as  the  June  sky  was  swept 
by  softer  ones. 

"By  Jove!"  he  muttered  at  last;  and  a  smile 
broke  upon  his  handsome,  browned  face.  "  You 
Quintonites  make  us  pay  well  for  all  we  get. 
You  swoop  down  upon  us  like  a  cloud  of  vul- 
tures, or  witnesses;  but  it's  driving  the  bargain 
pretty  hard,  when  you  set  a  price  upon  what 
we  see  in  it  all,  and  what  heaven  meant  should 
be  free.  As  for  you  —  "  he  paused,  and  threw 
himself  full  length  upon  the  sand  and  laughed 

58 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

good  humoredly,  "I  beg  your  pardon.  I  really 
had  no  right  to  put  you  in  the  picture  without 
your  permission.  I  thought,  as  true  as  heaven 
hears  me,  that  you  were  like  —  well,  the  other 
girls  of  the  place,  and  they  coax  to  have  them- 
selves 'taken'  as  they  call  it.  Now  that  I  hear 
you  speak,  I  see  that  you  are  different,  and  I 
beg  your  pardon,  'pon  my  word,  I  do.  And 
what's  more,  the  sketch  is  yours,  unless  you 
give  me  the  right  to  keep  it.  I'm  afraid  I 
cannot  make  you  understand  my  position,  but 
the  temptation  to  put  you  in  the  picture  was 
too  much  for  mortal  painter-man!" 

Janet's  face  cleared  slowly. 

"If  you  mean  I'm  different  from  the  other 
girls,  because  I  speak  differently,"  she  said 
slowly,  "  I  can  tell  you  that  it  is  simply  because 
I've  listened  and  read  more.  I  hate  to  use 
words  badly,  when  they  sound  so  much  better 
right.     I    practise,    but    I'm   just    a    Quinton 

girL" 

"  Oh !  I  see.  You  have  higher  aspirations  ? 
That  is  why  you  wanted  to  learn  to  paint  ?" 

"No!  At  least,  that  isn't  the  real  reason. 
I  want  money!" 

"Great  Scott!" 

There  was  mockery  and  a  new  pleasure  in 
the  man's  voice  now.     He  was  open  to  reve- 

59 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

lation  in  regard  to  Quinton  characteristics,  and 
he  sensed  an  original  type  before  him. 

"You  to  tell  me  in  this  brutally  frank  manner 
that  you  want  money!    You  with  that  face!" 

A  flush  tinged  the  bronze  of  Janet's  cheeks 
again. 

"Yes:  I  want  money!"  she  said  defiantly. 
"Some  get  it  by  waiting  on  table.  Some  feed 
you  and  wash  for  you.  I  cannot  do  those  things, 
I  just  cannot!" 

"Heaven  forbid!" 

"But  there  must  be  some  way?" 

The  frank,  almost  boyish  tone  disarmed  the 
listener.  His  smile  fled  and  when  he  spoke 
the  mockery  had  departed.  His  better  nature 
rose  to  meet  the  blind  need  in  the  girl's  desire, 
and  his  artistic  sense  guided  him  to  a  possible 
path. 

"I  wish  you  would  give  me  some  name  to 
call  you  by,"  he  said.  "You  have  mentioned 
Cap'n  Daddy,  am  I  to  understand  that  your 
name  is  —  is  —  " 

"My  Captain's  name  is  Morgan:  I'm  Janet." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Janet.  I  have  n't  a  card, 
but  Mr.  Richard  Thornly  presents  his  compli- 
ments." 

The  humor  of  the  situation  began  to  dawn 
upon  the  girl. 

60 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"We  are  all  captains  down  here,"  she  ex- 
plained, "we  each  have  our  captain.  Mine  is 
over  at  the  Station  on  the  beach.  I'm  staying 
just  now  with  Captain  David  at  the  Light, 
while  I'm  looking  for  something  to  do." 

"Miss  Janet,  I  have  a  business  proposition!" 
Thornly  folded  his  arms.  "I've  had  an  in- 
spiration. During  the  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  that  you  lay  upon  the  sands,  I  saw  you, 
not  only  as  I  saw  you  then  and  caught  you,  but 
I  saw  you  flitting  through  several  pictures.  I 
even  named  the  pictures,  Spirit  of  the  Dunes. 
I  advise  you  for  your  own  good,  Miss  Janet, 
do  not  struggle  to  learn  to  make  daubs!  It 
never  pays.  It's  hard  enough  to  make  the 
best  go.  But  you  can  help  me,  and  together 
we'll  create  some  pictures  that  will  set  the 
town  gaping.     What  do  you  say  ?" 

"I  do  not  understand." 

"Well,  sit  for  me;  be  my  model!  Let  me 
put  you  in  my  pictures.  I'll  pay  you  well,  and 
if  I  sell  the  pictures,  you'll  have  a  kind  of 
fame  to  offer  your  Cap'n  Daddy  that  no  girl 
need  be  ashamed  of.  Have  you  caught  my 
meaning  ?" 

"You  mean,  if  I  sit  here  upon  the  Hills  —  " 

"Sit,  stand,  or  lie  among  them,"  Thornly 
explained. 

61 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"You'll  paint  me,  and  pay  me,  and  then 
take  your  pictures  to  the  city  and  sell  them  ?" 

"Try  to,"  Thornly  laughed  easily.  "I'm  one 
of  the  few  fortunate  devils  who  has  sold  a  pic- 
ture or  two.    My  hopes  for  the  future  are  good." 

"I'll  do  it!"  cried  Janet.  "It's  about  the 
easiest  way  to  get  the  boarders'  money  I've 
heard  of  yet!"  The  laugh  that  rang  out  made 
Thornly  stare. 

"I  did  not  know  any  one  could  laugh  in 
quite  that  way,"  he  said.  "It  sounded  — 
well,  it  sounded  like  part  of  the  air  and  place. 
Miss  Janet,"  —  he  spoke  slower,  feeling  his  way 
as  he  went,  —  "  I  'm  going  to  ask  you  to  keep 
this  business  arrangement  private.  The  other 
artists  would  be  quick  enough  to  filch  my  prize 
if  they  could." 

"No  one  else  shall  paint  me,"  Janet  assured 
him.  "If  I  see  a  little  wagon,  I'll  pull  down 
my  bonnet." 

"Thank  you.  And  those  on  your  side,  too, 
Miss  Janet!  Your  Cap'n  Daddy,  and  that 
Captain  of  the  Light,  I  'd  like  to  surprise  them 
by  and  by.     Is  it  a  go  r" 

"Oh!  yes!"  The  frank  innocence  in  the 
girl's  face  again  stirred  Thornly.  "It's  a  go,  if 
my  watchers  do  not  interfere." 

"Your  watchers?" 

62 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Yes.  I  'm  considered  rather  a  —  well,  some- 
thing like  a  ship  that's  likely  to  be  wrecked. 
I  don't  know  why  folks  are  always  thinking  I 
may  go  on  the  bar,  but  they  do.  And  several  of 
them  have  an  eye  on  me.  I  can  almost  feel 
Daddy's  eye  way  over  from  the  Station;  and 
there's  Davy!  I  should  n't  wonder  now,  if 
he  were  looking  at  me  as  he  hauls  the  oil  up 
to  the  lamp;  and  Susan  Jane,  chair-ridden  as 
she  is,  has  eyes  that  go  out  like  a  devilfish's 
feelers;  and  then  there  is  Mark  Tapkins!  I'm 
afraid  you'll  have  trouble  with  Mark's  eyes!" 

Thornly  was  laughing  uproariously.  "You 
open  a  vista  of  human  possibilities  that  makes 
me  about  crazy,"  he  said.  "Your  associates 
must  all  be  Arguses;  but  I  like  not  Mark!  Just 
where  does  Tapkins  come  in?" 

"'Most  everywhere!"  Janet  joined  in  the 
care-free  laugh.  She  felt  perfectly  at  her  ease 
with  this  stranger  now.  Born  and  reared  where 
equality  and  good-fellowship  existed,  she  knew 
no  need  of  caution.  To  dislike  a  person  was 
the  only  ground  for  suspicion.  To  like  him 
was  an  open  sesame  to  heart  and  confidence. 
And  Janet  liked  the  stranger  immensely. 

"Mark  comes  in  'most  everywhere,"  she 
repeated.     "You'll  have  to  look  out  for  Mark." 

"He  loves  you,  I  suppose?"    Thornly  for- 

63 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

bore  to  laugh,  and  he  searched  the  frank  face 
near  him. 

"Now  whatever  made  you  guess  that  ?  He 
is  not  quite  sure  himself.  He's  never  sure  of 
anything,  and  I  never  suspected  it  until  lately 
—  you're  rather  keen." 

"Well,  we'll  escape  Tapkins's  eagle  eye. 
Forewarned  is  forearmed.  Now  see  here,  part- 
ner, can  you  blow  this  whistle  ? "  Thornly 
took  a  small  golden  watch  charm  from  his  fob. 
It  seemed  a  toy,  but  when  Janet  placed  it  to 
her  lips  and  blew,  it  emitted  a  shrill,  far-reach- 
ing call  that  startled  her. 

"I'll  prowl  in  these  parts  every  day,  when  it 
does  n't  pour  cats  and  dogs,"  Thornly  explained; 
"and  when  you  can  escape  the  watch,  —  come 
to  the  Hills,  blow  the  whistle  and  presto! 
change!  I'll  be  on  the  scene  before  you  can 
count  twenty.  Miss  Janet,  fame  and  fortune 
yawn  before  us  —  actually  yawn.  And  now 
may  I  keep  this  ?" 

He  picked  up  the  sketch  and  came  close  to 
the  girl,  his  shoulder  touching  hers,  as  they 
looked  at  the  picture  together.  "Yes!"  Janet 
said  softly,  the  beauty  of  the  thing  holding  her 
anew,  "yes!  You've  made  them  your  very 
own,  the  Hills,  and  me,  and  the  sky  and  the 
water!     It's  very  wonderful.     I  never  saw  any- 

64 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

thing  like  it.  If  you  only  forget,  it  is  easy  to 
imagine  that  this  is  a  reflection !" 

"Thank  you!"  Thornly  moved  away. 
"Thank  you!  That's  about  the  greatest  praise 
I've  ever  had.  This  is  only  a  water  sketch,  too; 
wait  until  you've  seen  it  in  oil!  I've  a  shanty 
over  there  —  "  he  pointed  below  them,  where  a 
hollow,  opening  toward  the  bay,  held  a  tiny 
building  in  its  almost  secret  shelter,  "  I  'm  gener- 
ally there,  when  I'm  not  tramping  the  open. 
Would  you,  eh  —  well,  would  you  mind  letting 
me  pose  you  there  some  day  ?" 

"Oh,  no!"  Janet  beamed  delightedly,  "I'd 
love  to  see  the  inside  of  your  shanty.  I  dare 
say  it's  enchanted,  and  besides,"  —  she  showed 
her  white  teeth  deliciously,  —  "I  do  not  believe 
Mark  could  watch  me  there!" 

She  rose  and  picked  up  her  sunbonnet.  "The 
sun  has  passed  noon,"  she  said  ruefully,  "and 
I've  a  good  three  miles  to  walk.  Good  bye, 
Mr.  Thornly,  it's  been  a  wonderful  morning." 
She  started  rapidly  down  the  hill.  Thornly 
waved  to  her  as  she  went,  until  a  friendly  hil- 
lock hid  her. 


65 


CHAPTER  V 

"TT  7ELL,  my  boy!     To  think  of  you  drift- 

y  y     ing  down  here.     Have  a  cigar,  and 

put  your  feet  on  the  railing.     I  tell 

you,  you  may  travel  the  world  over,  and  there 

is  n't  an  easier  posture  known,  than  the  Yankee 

one  of  'feet  higher  than  head.'" 

John  Devant  and  Richard  Thornly  sat  upon 
the  wide  veranda  of  Bluff  Head;  and  Thornly, 
being  thus  given  the  freedom  of  Yankee  position, 
planted  his  feet  upon  the  high  railing,  tipped 
back  his  broad-armed  chair,  and  inhaled  the 
smoke  of  his  host's  good  cigar. 

"You've  caught  the  language  of  the  place 
already  I  see,  Mr.  Devant.  Had  we  met  any- 
where else,  another  wr>rd  would  have  done; 
'drifting'  applies  here.  No  one  'runs  down' 
to  Quinton,  or  'happens'  down;  one  just 
naturally  'drifts.'     It's  a  great  place." 

"You  like  it,  eh  ?"  Mr.  Devant  let  his  eyes 
rove  over  the  wealth  of  color  and  wildness,  and 
puffed  enjoyably. 

"It's   immense!    Strange,   isn't   it,   how   a 

66 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

place  can  lie  slumbering  for  generations,  right 
at  our  doors,  and  no  one  has  sense  enough  to 
look  at  it  ?  And  after  all,  it  is  while  it  is 
sleeping,  or  beginning  to  stir,  that  it  charms. 
Two  years  from  now,  when  the  rabble  get 
onto  the  racket,  the  glory  will  be  gone.  Think 
of  picnics  on  the  Hills!  Imagine  a  crowd 
rushing  for  the  dunes,  and  the  bay  thick 
with  sails!  No!  Let's  make  the  best  of  it 
while  we  may." 

Mr.  Devant  laughed.  "I'll  give  it  five  or  ten 
years,"  he  said.  "My  grandfather  had  a  vision 
of  its  future  prosperity.  He  bought  acres  here 
for  a  mere  song.  He  built  this  house,  hoping 
the  family  would  find  it  comfortable  for  the 
summers.  My  father  liked  it  so  well  that  he 
settled  the  library  and  general  fixtures  for  a 
home,  living  winters  at  a  hotel  in  town.  But 
the  old  place  was  too  lonely  for  me  in  the  past. 
I'm  just  beginning  to  have  visions,  like  my 
forebears.  I  'm  sick  of  travel.  Town  life  ought 
never  to  charm  a  natural  animal  except  during 
the  months  of  bad  weather.  My  boy,  I  believe 
I  '11  settle  down  at  fifty  and  take  to  land  specula- 
tion! I'll  buy  up  round  here,  keep  the  grip 
of  the  rabble  off,  and  preserve  this  spot  for  the 
—  pure  in  heart  and  them  who  have  clean 
hands!" 

67 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"'T  would  be  a  missionary  work,"  Thornly 
rejoined  lightly. 

"Who  turned  your  eyes  hitherward,  Dick?" 

"Why,  John  Mason.  He  saw  Chatterton's 
famous  picture  and  came  down  and  discovered 
this  garden  spot.  Poor  old  Mason!  With  his 
money  pots  and  his  struggling  love  for  beauty 
and  simplicity,  he  is  sore  distressed.  He 
wanted  to  build  a  cabin  on  the  dunes  and  live 
here  summers,  but  Madam  and  the  girls  almost 
had  hysterics.  They  have  just  built  a  ginger- 
bread affair  at  Magnolia,  and  so  Mason  added 
a  den  to  the  structure.  A  huge  room  over- 
looking the  sea!  It  has  space  left  on  the  wall 
for  a  big  picture,  and  Mason  gave  me  an  order. 
'Go  down  to  that  heaven-preserved  spot,'  he 
said,  'get  the  spirit  of  the  place,  and  put  it  in  my 
den.  I  don't  mind  the  price.  Stay  down  all 
summer,  but  get  it!'" 

"Do  you  think  you  can?"  asked  Devant. 
Thornly's  gaze  contracted. 

"I  think  I  have,"  he  replied,  slowly  flicking 
the  ashes  that  had  accumulated  upon  his  cigar. 

"Good!  That  means  more  glory.  In  this 
sordid  age,  and  with  an  uncomprehending 
public,  you've  had  rare  fortune  in  getting  rid  of 
your  work,  Dick.  Your  pictures  are  sellers,  I 
hear.     How  proud  your  father  would  have  been! 

68 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

My  old  friend  was  one  of  the  few  men  I  have 
known  who  set  a  price  upon  genius  above 
money." 

"Yes:  I  wish  father  and  mother  could  have 
known.     It's  often  a  bit  lonely." 

"  But  there  is  Katharine.  At  least,  I  suppose, 
there  is  still  Katharine  ?" 

"Yes,"  slowly,  "there  is  still  Katharine;  and 
our  relations  are  the  same.  She  's  watching  my 
stunts  in  art." 

"She's  proud  of  you  ?" 

"She's  proud  of  my  success."  Thornly 
smiled.     "There's  a  difference,  you  know." 

"Oh!  yes.  But  Katharine  is  young.  I'd 
like  to  see  the  child  again.  Is  she  as  pretty  as 
her  childhood  promised  ?" 

11  She  is  very  handsome." 

"Full  of  life  and  dimples?" 

"Oh!  she's  giddy  enough.  Superb  health, 
and  undiminished  scent  for  pleasure!  Kath- 
arine is  an  undoubted  success." 

"  I  must  have  her  down.  My  sister  is  coming 
at  the  month's  end.  I'll  write  to  Katharine 
to-night  and  plead  my  friendship  for  her 
parents.  Where  is  she  ?  And  I  '11  tell  her 
you're  here." 

"She's  at  South  End,  with  the  Prescotts." 

For  some  moments  the  older  and  the  younger 

69 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

man  smoked  in  silence.  The  sun  set  in  due 
time  and  Captain  David's  Light  appeared. 

"What  a  living  thing  a  lighthouse  is!"  said 
Thornly;  "that  and  an  open  fire  have  the  same 
vital,  human  interest." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right.  When  I  find  myself 
bad  company,  I  always  have  a  fire  built  if  the 
temperature  is  below  seventy.  Since  I  came 
here  I've  taken  to  this  side  of  the  veranda,  late 
afternoons,  and  I  grow  quite  chummy  with 
Cap'n  Davy's  Light." 

Mr.  Devant  got  up,  stretched  himself  and 
took  to  pacing  the  piazza  slowly. 

"You  know  David  of  the  Light?"  asked 
Thornly. 

"As  a  boy  I  knew  the  characters  roundabout 
here,  somewhat.  I'm  trying  to  reinstate  my- 
self in  their  good  graces.  This  place  produces 
strange  and  unexpected  types." 

"Yes,  I  found  a  pimpernel  flower  on  the  Hills 
to-day,"  said  Thornly  irrelevantly.  "Even  the 
flora  is  startling." 

"You  found  what?" 

"A  pimpernel.     It's  a  common  wild  flower 

in  some  sandy  places,  but  a  strange  enough 

little  rascal  to  be  seen  just  here.     It's  called 

the  poor  man's  weather  glass.     Where  it  grows 

^most  common,  it  is  not  especially  noticeable; 

70 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

but  it  almost  took  my  breath  this  morning. 
It's  in  keeping  with  the  surprises  of  the  sur- 
roundings." 

Devant  laughed. 

"Well,"  he  said  presently,  "it  must  be  a 
relation,  same  family,  you  know,  of  a  pim- 
pernel of  a  girl  I  've  discovered  here." 

Thornly  again  contracted  his  brows. 

"Solitary  flower?  Shutting  up  at  approach 
of  storm,  and  all  the  rest  ?"  he  asked. 

"Solitary  flower,  all  right,"  Devant  rejoined. 
"I'm  not  up  on  plant-ology,  but  I've  studied 
humans,  off  and  on,  and  I  cannot  account  for 
this  one.  I  don't  know  whether,  in  my  po- 
sition as  friend  to  you,  I  should  bring  this  odd 
specimen  to  your  notice,  but  I'd  like  to  have 
you,  as  an  artist,  pass  judgment  upon  her 
beauty." 

"I  might  have  the  storm's  effect  upon  this 
pimpernel  of  yours,"  Thornly  put  in,  "make 
her  hide  within  herself." 

"I  fancy  storms  would  not  daunt  her.  I 
don't  know  but  that  she  would  rather  enjoy 
them." 

Thornly  yawned  secretly. 

"Handsome,  is  she?" 

"Not  only  that,"  said  Devant,  "I  suppose  she 
is  wonderfully  handsome.     She  has  grace,  too, 

71 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

and  a  figure,  I  should  say,  about  perfect.  But  it 
is  her  mental  make-up  that  staggers  me.  She 
talks  in  one  way  and  thinks  in  another.  She 
clings  to  her  g's,  too,  in  spite  of  local  tradition. 
She  has  n't  a  passing  acquaintance  with  'ain't,' 
or  the  more  criminal  'hain't.'  Her  English  is 
good,  she  reads  like  a  starved  soul,  for  the  pure 
pleasure  of  it;  and  she  thinks  like  a  child  of 
ten.  By  Jove!  she  was  here  in  my  library,  the 
day  I  arrived.  She  had  a  secret  method  of 
getting  into  the  house  by  a  cellar  window, — 
had  done  it  for  years.  She  almost  froze  my 
blood  when  I  saw  her.  I  thought  I'd  struck 
a  ghost  for  certain.  She  was  reading  Shake- 
speare! Said  she  had  n't  been  able  to  get 
beyond  him  for  three  months.  She  began  to 
read  when  she  was  little,  at  the  bottom  shelf, 
and  has  worked  her  way  up  to  the  fifth.  And 
yet  with  all  that,  she's  a  simple  child,  Dick. 
Smollett  and  Fielding  and  heaven  knows  who 
else  are  on  the  third  shelf! " 

"Lord!"  cried  Thornly,  and  laughed  loudly; 
"who  is  this  pimpernel?" 

"Janet  of  the  Dunes.  Cap'n  Billy's  girl! 
Been  brought  up  like  a  wild  thing!  Sails  a 
boat  like  an  old  tar!  Swims  like  a  fish! 
Motherless  —  old  Billy,  a  poor  shote,  accord- 
ing to  the  gossip!    The  women  have  a  sort  of 

72 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

pitying  contempt  for  him;  the  men  keep  their 
mouths  shut,  but  you  can  fancy  the  training 
of  this  girl.  I  'm  always  interested  in  heredity 
and  I'd  like  to  know  the  girl's  mother.  Some- 
thing ought  to  account  for  my  pimpernel." 
Thornly  was  rising. 

"  I  '11  try  to  account  for  my  flower,  Mr. 
Devant,"  he  said.  "I  dare  say  some  untoward 
wind  bore  it  from  its  original  environment;  it 
may  be  that  the  same  reasons  exist  in  the  case 
of  this  flower  of  yours.     Good  night!" 

"Stay  to  late  dinner,  Dick!  You  know  you 
don't  want  to  go  back  to  a  dish  of  prunes  and 
soggy  cake.     Better  stay." 

"No.  Thank  you,  just  the  same.  I'm 
going  to  bunk  out  in  my  shanty  to-night.  I've 
got  a  chafing  dish  there.  The  prunes  were 
undermining  my  constitution.     Good  night!" 

Devant  watched  him  until  the  shrubbery  hid 
him. 

"I'll  get  Katharine  down  as  soon  as  I  can," 
he  mused;  "and  for  his  father's  sake,  as  well 
as  his  own,  I'll  try  to  keep  him  and  the  pim- 
pernel apart  until  then.  His  engagement  to 
Katharine  is  a  safe  anchor." 

But  while  Davy's  Light  shone  friendly-wise 
upon  Bluff  Head,  it  also  did  its  duty  by  a  lonely 
little  mariner  putting  off  from  Davy's  dock, 

73 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

It  had  been  a  hard  day  for  Janet.  Susan 
Jane,  with  almost  occult  power,  had  seemed  to 
divine  the  girl's  longing  to  get  away. 

"  Boarder  or  no  boarder! "  the  helpless  woman 
had  snarled,  "I  reckon  you've  got  somethin' 
human  'bout  you.  If  you  can't  stop  an'  do 
fur  me,  I'll  call  David.  I've  had  a  bad  night 
an'  I  ain't  goin'  t'  be  left  t'  myself.  There's 
stirrin*  doin's  goin'  on;  but  no  one  comes  here 
t*  gossip." 

"I'll  stay,"  Janet  had  sighed,  remembering 
David's  worn,  patient  face  when  he  staggered 
toward  the  bedroom  an  hour  before.  "  But  I 
cannot  gossip,  Susan  Jane,  I  don't  know  how; 
and  all  the  other  folks  are  busy  cooking,  feed- 
ing, washing  for,  and  waiting  on  the  boarders. 
City  folks  come  high,  Susan  Jane." 

"Well,  if  you  can't  gossip,  Janet,  there  is 
them  as  can.  Thank  God!  when  He  took  the 
use  of  my  legs  an'  arms,  He  strengthened  my 
eyes  an'  ears.  I  can  see  an'  hear  considerable, 
though  there  is  them  who  would  deny  me  that 
comfort  if  they  could.  What  ails  you  an'  Mark 
Tapkins  ?" 

"Nothing,  Susan  Jane." 

"Yes,  there  be,  too.  He's  more  womble- 
cropped  than  ever.  They  say  his  Pa  is  makin' 
a  mint  of  money  sellin'  them  crullers  of  his'n. 

74 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Who  would  have  thought  of  Mark's  bein'  smart 
enough  to  set  his  Pa  on  that  tack  ?  The  way 
these  city  folks  eat  anythin'  that  is  give  them 
is  scandalous.  They  must  have  crops  like 
yaller  ducks.  Have  you  heard  'bout  Mrs.  Jo 
G.'s  Maud  Grace?" 

"No,  Susan  Jane."     Janet  stirred  the  cake 
she  was  making  by  Susan's  recipe  energetically. 
"You're  deef  as  a  bulkhead,  Janet!     I  bet 
you're  envious." 

"Envious,    Susan    Jane,    envious    of   Maud 
Grace?" 

"Oh!  you  have  had  yer  eyes  open,  eh  ?" 
"You  just  asked  me  about  her,  Susan  Jane." 
"Did  I?  Well,  it's  simply  amazin'  how 
Mrs.  Jo  G.  is  developin'  a  business  talent. 
Actually  keepin'  her  girl  dressed  up  t9  enter- 
tain the  boarders,  evenin's!  She's  got  some 
one  t'  help  wait  in  the  dinin'  room,  an'  she 
cooks.  Jo  G.  sails  the  boarders,  when  they 
pay  him  enough,  an'  that  girl  just  sparks  around 
an'  acts  real  entertainin',  evenin's.  I  should  n't 
wonder,  with  such  a  smart  ma,  if  she  caught  a 
beau.  I  do  wish,  Janet,  since  you  ain't  got  no 
one  but  Billy,  —  an'  every  one  knows  he's  got 
'bout  as  much  gumption  as  a  snipe, — I  do  wish 
you  could  land  one  of  these  boarders.  They 
must  be  real  easy  from  what  I  hear." 

75 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"I  don't  want  them!" 

"Course  you  don't!  An'  you  don't  want  t* 
work  fur  your  livin',  an'  Mark  ain't  good 
enough  fur  you.  You'd  better  look  out,  Janet, 
I  tell  you  fur  your  good,  it  ain't  safe  fur  you  t' 
trust  yer  leanin's  too  far." 

So  the  day  had  passed.  The  afternoon  had 
brought  Mark  Tapkins  with  his  gloomy  face, 
too,  so  Janet  had  been  obliged  to  give  the  Hills 
a  wide  berth  and  only  darkness  brought  relief. 

Susan  Jane  was  bewailing  her  woes  in  David's 
patient  ears,  —  it  was  Mark's  night  in  the 
Light,  —  so,  unseen  and  unsuspected,  Janet 
loosed  the  Comrade,  unfurled  the  white  wing 
before  the  obliging  land  breeze,  and  made  for 
the  Station. 

It  was  a  glorious  summer  night;  full  moon, 
full  tide,  and  a  steady  west  wind  heavy  with 
the  odor  of  the  Hills. 

As  the  little  boat  darted  ahead,  Janet's  spirits 
rose  as  poor  David's  did,  when  once  he  parted 
company  with  the  burden  of  Susan  Jane's 
peevish  egotism.  She  looked  back  at  the  Light 
and  thought,  with  a  little  sigh  of  weariness, 
that  she  was  free  from  the  watchfulness  of  the 
three  within  its  walls. 

"Only  the  Light  has  an  eye  upon  me!  Kind, 
good  Light!     Cap'n  Daddy  and  I  do  not  need 

76 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

you  to-night,  but,  come  storm,  then  God  bless 
you!" 

It  was  not  the  girl's  intention  to  run  up  to 
the  Station  dock.  She  knew  that  Cap'n  Billy 
had  the  midnight  patrol,  going  east;  so  she 
planned  to  make  for  the  little  cove,  midway 
between  the  Station  and  the  halfway  house, 
and  take  Billy  by  surprise  and  assault. 

She  chuckled  delightedly  as  she  constructed 
her  mode  of  attack.  She  was  hungry  to  feel 
the  comfort  of  Billy's  understanding  love  and 
trust.  The  more  she  had  to  conceal  from 
Billy,  the  more  she  yearned  to  be  near  him. 

The  Comrade,  responding  to  the  steady  hand 
upon  the  tiller,  shot  into  the  cove.  The  girl 
secured  the  boat  and  ran  lightly  over  the  dunes 
to  the  seaward  side;  then  she  lay  down  among 
the  sand  grasses  and  waited. 

She  seemed  alone  in  God's  world.  The 
moon-lighted  ocean  spread  full  and  throbbing 
before  her.  The  sky,  star-filled  and  blue- 
black,  arched  in  unbroken  splendor.  The 
waste  and  solitude  held  no  awe  for  this  girl 
of  the  Station.  They  had  been  her  heritage 
and  were  natural  and  homelike  to  her.  Under 
summer  skies  and  through  winter's  storms  she 
knew  the  coast's  every  phase  of  beauty  or  danger. 
It  was  hers,  and  she  belonged  to  it.    A  common 

77 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

love  held  them  together.  She  crouched  close 
to  the  sandy  hillock.  The  night  was  growing 
old,  the  tide  had  turned,  and  still  she  sat  ab- 
sorbed in  thought  and  tender  memory.  How 
beautiful  the  world  and  life  were!  She  took 
from  her  bosom  the  tiny  whistle,  which  had 
been  for  five  long,  delicious  weeks  her  power  of 
summoning  unlimited  joy  to  herself.  What  a 
new  element  had  entered  into  her  existence! 
How  powerful  and  self-sufficient  she  felt  as  she 
recalled  her  part  in  those  wonderful  pictures 
that  were  growing  day  by  day  in  the  shanty 
on  the  Hills! 

Her  blood  rose  hotly  in  her  young  body,  as 
she  lived  again,  under  the  calm  sky,  those  weeks 
of  perfect  bliss. 

Suddenly  the  girl  sat  upright,  put  the  whistle 
in  its  hiding  place,  and  strained  her  eyes  toward 
the  Station. 

Yes:  there  came  Billy!  He  was  striding 
along;  head  bowed,  except  when  conscientiously 
he  gazed  seaward,  scanning  with  his  far-sighted 
eyes  the  bar  where  danger  lay,  come  storm  or 
fog.  But  could  there  be  danger  on  such  a  night 
as  this  ? 

Billy,  faithful  soul,  had  not  a  nature  attuned 
to  the  glory  of  the  night,  but  he  had  a  soul  sen- 
sitive to  a  brother's  need.     If  he  gave  heed  at 

78 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

all  to  the  summer  beauty,  it  was  merely  \a 
thankfulness  that  all  was  well. 

"Help!  help!"  Billy  stopped  suddenly  and 
raised  his  head.  "Help!  help!  Here's  a  poor, 
little  brig  on  the  bar!" 

A  smile  of  joy  overspread  the  man's  face,  a 
smile  that  drove  all  care  and  weariness  before  it. 

"Ye  little  specimint!"  he  called,  "what  ye 
mean  by  burrowin*  in  the  sand  an'  scarin*  one 
of  the  government  officials  clar  out  o'  common 
sense?     Come  here,  ye  varmint!" 

"My  Cap'nf"  The  strong  young  arms  were 
about  the  rugged  neck.  "You  were  just  going 
to  send  up  a  Coston  light,  now  were  n't  you, 
Daddy?" 

"No.  I  war  not!  I  don't  waste  nary  a 
Coston  on  a  wuthless  little  hulk  like  ye. 
Come  on,  girl,  I  've  been  takin'  it  easy.  I  ain't 
as  young  as  J  once  was.  We  must  make  the 
halfway  in  season.  T  ain't  the  fust  time  we've 
took  the  patrol  together,  is  it,  Janet  ?" 

He  held  the  girl's  hand  in  his,  and  she  accom- 
modated her  step  as  nearly  as  possible  to  his 
long,  swinging  gait. 

"Kinder  homesick  ?"  he  asked  presently. 

"Kind  of  you-sick!  I  wanted  to  be  near 
you.     I  wanted  —  you,"  Janet  whispered. 

"Durned  little  cozzler!"  chuckled  Billy.    "I 

79 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

know  what  yer  up  t\  Ain't  got  nothin'  t'  do 
yet,  over  on  the  mainland;  just  a  lazy  little 
tormint;  an'  ye  want  t'  cozzen  yer  Cap'n  Billy. 
Why  can't  ye  jine  the  army  that's  plain  fleecin' 
the  city  folks  ?  They  be  the  easiest  biters, 
'cordin'  t'  what  I  hear,  that  has  ever  run  in  t' 
these  shoals.     Reg'lar  dogfish  one  an'  all." 

"Oh!  I  pick  up  a  penny  now  and  then;" 
Janet  pursed  her  pretty  mouth  and  set  her  head 
sideways.  "I  made  enough  to  pay  Susan  Jane 
for  last  week  and  this.  Susan  's  an  old  leech, 
Cap'n  Billy.  It 's  simply  awful  to  see  her  greed 
in  money  matters.  Sitting  in  her  chair,  she 
can  manage  to  want  more,  strive  to  get  more, 
and  make  more  fuss  about  it,  than  any  other 
woman  on  the  mainland.  You  have  to  live 
with  Susan  Jane  to  appreciate  her.  Oh!  poor 
Davy.  We  never  really  knew  what  a  hero  he 
is,  Daddy.     He's  splendid!" 

It  had  been  necessary,  unless  Susan  Jane  was 
to  receive  double  pay  for  her  boarder,  that  Janet 
should  inform  Billy  as  to  her  money-getting; 
but  once  the  fact  was  stated,  the  girl  hurried 
to  other  thoughts,  in  order  to  divert  Billy . 

"How 'd  ye  get  yer  money,  Janet?"  A 
serious  look  came  into  the  man's  face.  "It's 
uncommon  clever  of  ye  t'  help  yerself  on;  if  the 
money  only  comes  in  a  God-fearin'  way!" 

80 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Cap'n  Daddy !"  Janet  drew  herself  up 
magnificently.  "Do  you  take  me  for  Maud 
Grace?" 

"No,  I  don't,  I'm  takin'  ye  fur  my  gal,  an*  it's 
my  duty  t'  see  that  ye  don't  furgit  yer  trainin' 
over  on  the  boarder-struck  mainland!  But 
what 's  wrong  'long  o'  Mrs.  Jo  G.'s  gal  ?" 

"Nothing.  Except  she  keeps  dressed  up  to 
entertain  the  boarders,  and  takes  tips.  That's 
what  she  calls  them." 

"Tips  ?"     Billy  wrinkled  his  brows. 

"Yes.  Money  for  doing  nothing.  Cap'n 
Daddy,  I  work  for  my  money." 

"Doin'  what?"  Billy's  insistence  was  grow- 
ing vexatious. 

"Daddy,  don't  you  ever  tell!"  Janet  danced 
in  front  of  him  and  walked  backward  as  she 
pointed  a  finger  merrily. 

The  moonlight  streaming  upon  the  girl 
showed  her  beauty  in  a  witchlike  brightness. 
It  stirred  Billy  in  an  uneasy,  anxious  fashion. 

"There  ain't  no  call  t'  tell  any  one,"  he 
said,  "you  an'  me  is  enough  t'  know.  Us  an' 
them  what  pays  ye!" 

"Cap'n  Daddy;  I'm  — a  — model!" 

"Amodil  — what?" 

Janet's  laugh  rose  above  the  lapping  water's 
sound. 

Si 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Why,  Daddy!  Don't  you  think  I'm  a 
model  everything  i" 

"No,"  Billy  shook  his  head;  "I  ain't  blind, 
gal,  ye  ain't  what  most  folks  would  call  a  modil, 
I'm  thinkin'!" 

"Well,  the  artists  think  I  am!" 

"The  artists  ?  Them  womin  in  bonnets  and 
smutchy  pinafores  ?     Gosh!" 

For  a  moment  Janet's  truth-loving  soul 
shrank  from  deceiving  Billy,  but  her  promise 
to  Thornly  held  her.  She  stopped,  her  merry 
dance  and  came  again  beside  him,  clasping 
the  hard  hand  tenderly  within  her  own. 

"What  do  they  think  ye  a  modil  of?"  asked 
the  man,  and  his  face  had  lightened  visibly. 

"Oh!  just  what  their  silly  fancy  tells  them. 
Only  don't  you  see,  Daddy,  dear,  they  don't 
want  any  one  to  know  until  the  pictures  are 
done.  It  would  spoil  the  —  the  —  well,  I  can- 
not explain;  but  they  want  to  spring  the  pic~ 
tures  upon  folks  by  and  by." 

"'Cordin'  t'  what  Andrew  Farley  tells," 
grinned  Billy,  all  amiability  now,  "no  one  will 
be  likely  t'  know  ye  from  a  scrub  oak  stump 
when  the  picters  is  done.  Andrew  says  when  he 
thinks  of  all  it  costs  t'  paint  a  boat  an'  then  sees 
the  waste  of  good,  honest  paint  up  on  the  Hills, 
it  turns  his  stummick  sick.     Well,  long  as  it  is 

8* 


.,■ 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 


innercent  potterin'  like  that,  Janet,  I  don't 
know  but  as  yer  considerable  sharp  t*  trade 
yer  looks  fur  their  money,  It  rather  goes  agin 
the  grain  with  me  t'  have  ye  git  the  best  of  them. 
But  Lord!  as  the  good  book  says,  a  fool  an'  his 
money  is  soon  parted,  an'  so  long  as  they're 
sufferin'  t'  part  with  theirs,  I  don't  know  but 
what  ye  have  a  right  t'  barter  what  cargo  yer 
little  craft  carries,  as  well  as  others  what  have 
less  agreeable  stores  on  board."  Janet  laughed 
merrily. 

"Mark  Tapkins  was  on  yisterday,"  Billy 
continued;  "he  says  Bluff  Head's  open  an'  Mr. 
Devant  an'  a  party  is  there.  Must  be  quite 
gay  an'  altered  on  the  mainland."  Janet's 
face  clouded. 

"Cap'n  Daddy,"  she  faltered,  "I'm  going  to 
tell  you  something  else." 

"Yer  considerable  talky,  it  seems  ts  me." 
Billy  eyed  the  girl. 

"Cap'n  Billy,  have  you  ever  wondered  why 
I  talk  better  than  most  of  the  others  at  the 
Station?" 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  would  allow  that  ye  Jo," 
Billy  replied;  "ye  talk  differenter,  somewhat, 
but  I  don't  know  as  it's  better." 

"Well,  it  is.  And  it  is  n't  all  the  teachers' 
doings  either,  Daddy,  for  Maud  Grace  and  the 

83 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

rest  never  changed  much;  but  for  years,  Daddy, 
I've  been  crawling  in  the  cellar  window  of 
Bluff  Head,  when  no  one  on  earth  knew,  and 
I've  read  five  shelves  of  books!  I've  thought 
like  those  books,  and  talked  like  them,  until 
I  seem  to  be  like  them;  and,  Daddy,  the  day 
Mr  Devant  came  home,  he  found  me  in  his 
library-room,  reading  his  books!" 

"Gawd!"  ejaculated  Billy,  and  stood  stock 
still.  "Did  he  fling  ye  out,  neck  and  crop?" 
he  gasped  at  last. 

"Daddy!  he's  a  nice  old  gentleman!" 

"Old?  He  ain't  dodderin'  yet.  An'  he 
use  t'  have  a  bit  of  pepper  in  his  nater.  What 
did  he  do?" 

"  Do  ?  Why,  he  gave  me  the  key  to  his  front 
door.  He  reads  with  me  and  tells  me  what  to 
read.     We're  great  friends!" 

"Yer  'tarnal  specimint!"  Billy  was  shak- 
ing. "I  see  ye've  caught  the  mainland  fever, 
eh,  gal  ?  Ye  don't  want  t'  bide  on  the  dunes 
'long  o'  old  Billy,  now,  eh  ?" 

"You  blessed  old  Cap'n!"  Janet  struggled 
to  hold  her  prize.  "I'm  perfectly  happy!  And 
I  had  to  come  over  here  to-night  and  tell  you." 

"Janet,"  —  Billy's  eyes  were  dim,  —  "I  keep 
wishin'  more  an'  more  that  ye  had  a  ma.  I 
ain't  never  thought  openly  on  it  fur  years,  not 

84 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

since  ye  was  fust  borned.  But  as  ye  grow  int* 
womanhood,  ye  seem  as  helpless  as  ye  did  then. 
I  wish  ye  had  a  ma!" 

The  little  halfway  house  was  in  front  of 
them.  Andrew  Farley,  who  served  on  the 
crew  at  the  Station  beyond,  was  in  the  doorway. 

"What  ye  got  in  tow,  Billy  ?"  he  called 
jovially. 

"  Jest  a  tarnal  little  bit  of  driftwood,  Andy." 
Billy  rallied  his  low  spirits. 

"Hello,  Janet!"  Andrew  recognized  her. 
"  How  comes  ye  kin  leave  the  mainland  ?  I 
thought  every  one  who  could,  stuck  there  t*  see 
the  show.  By  gracious!  Billy,  ye  jest  oughter 
see  how  things  is  altered."  The  two  men  ex- 
changed the  brass  checks,  then,  before  return- 
ing to  their  stations,  they  stood  chatting  easily. 

"Been  up  to  the  Hills  lately,  Janet?"  The 
girl  flushed. 

"Not  very,"  she  replied.  "Come  on,  Cap'n 
Daddy,  I'm  going  to  stay  on  and  sleep  in  the 
cottage  to-night." 

"Them  artists,"  Andrew  continued,  turning 
slowly  in  his  own  direction,  "them  artists  is 
smudgin*  up  the  landscape  jest  scandalous. 
One  of  them  wanted  t'  paint  me,  the  other  day, 
an*  I  held  off  an'  let  her.  Lord!  ye  should 
jest  have  seen  wot  she  done  t*  my  likeness!    I 

85 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

nearly  bu'st  when  she  showed  me.  I  ain't 
handsome,  none  never  accused  me  of  that  crime, 
but  I  ain't  lopsided  an'  lantern-jawed  t'  the 
extent  she  went.  She  said  I  had  a  loose  artistic 
pose;  them  was  her  words,  but  I  ain't  so  loose 
that  I  hang  crooked." 

Janet  slept  in  the  cottage  on  the  dunes  that 
night;  and  when  the  men  rose  to  go  through 
the  sunrise  drill,  she  ran  down  the  beach,  across 
the  sand  hills,  and  set  her  sail  toward  the  main- 
land. She  had  had  her  breakfast  in  the  Station 
with  the  men  and,  recalling  her  difficulty  in 
escaping  Susan  Jane  the  day  before,  she  headed 
the  Comrade  away  from  the  Light  and  glided 
toward  the  Hills. 

Mark  Tapkins,  turning  down  the  wick  as 
the  sun  came  up,  saw  the  white  sail  set  away 
from  home;  and  something  heavier  than  sleep 
struck  chilly  upon  his  heart.  He  knew  from 
past  spying  where  Janet  was  going! 


86 


CHAPTER  VI 

JANET,  used  as  she  was  to  the  keen,  sweet 
air  of  the  Hills,  stood,  after  securing  her 
boat,  and  drew  in  deep  breaths  of  the 
fragrant  morning.  She  had  taken  off  her  shoes 
and  stockings,  for  the  dew  lay  heavy  upon  the 
ground;  and  these,  wrapped  in  a  fish  net,  were 
flung  across  her  shoulder.  There  was  a  good 
half  mile  to  tread  before  the  little  hut  could  be 
reached  bodily,  but  the  whistle's  call,  going  on 
before,  would  open  the  gates  of  Paradise  if 
Thornly  were  there!  The  girl  did  not  put  her 
doubt  to  the  test  just  yet.  There  was  bliss  in 
dallying  with  the  joy,  the  bliss  of  youth,  in- 
nocence, and  unalloyed  faith. 

Thornly  might  have  stayed,  as  he  gener- 
ally did,  at  his  own  boarding  house  or  at 
Bluff  Head.  Janet  had  learned  of  his  inti- 
macy there,  although  she  had  never  imagined 
Mr.  Devant's  ingenuity  in  trying  to  keep  them, 
at  first,  apart.  If  Thornly  were  away  from 
the  shanty,  Janet  knew  the  hiding  place  for 
the   key;    she    could    enter    at   will    and    the 

87 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

secrets  of  the  treasure  house  were  not  hidden 
from  her. 

"  Lock  the  door  after  you,  whether  you  are 
in  or  out,"  was  Thornly's  command.  "No  one 
must  know,  until  the  very  last!"  And  the  girl 
would  have  cheerfully  defended  the  place  with 
her  life.  Over  sandy  hillocks  she  went  gleefully. 
The  artist  in  her  was  throbbing  wildly,  she  had 
a  new  inspiration  for  Thornly's  brush!  She 
led  his  fancy  in  riotous  joy.  Where  his  genius 
grew  slack,  hers  urged  him  to  renewed  effort. 

The  morning  came  up  ruddily  from  the  sea; 
it  came  with  a  south-wind  playfulness,  which 
tossed  the  girl's  glistening  hair  with  free  touch 
and  kissed  the  glowing  face  into  richer  beauty. 

Presently  the  little,  secluded  hut  came  into 
view;  the  very  next  hollow  held  it!  Janet  stood 
upon  the  last  hill,  drew  out  her  whistle  and 
with  smiling  lips,  that  with  difficulty  formed 
themselves  to  the  task,  sent  forth  her  call.  The 
musical  note  penetrated  the  stillness.  A  bird 
rose  affrightedly  from  a  near-by  bush;  but  it, 
and  the  waiting  girl,  seemed  to  have  the  Hills 
to  themselves. 

"So  much  the  better!"  murmured  Janet, 
sparkling  with  excitement.  "It  will  be  all  the 
more  surprising."  She  ran  rapidly  forward, 
secured  the  key  and  opened  the  door.     Then 

88 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

she  obediently  locked  it  again  and  stood  within 
the  room  gazing  tenderly  at  every  beloved 
object.  It  was  just  as  Thornly  had  left  it. 
He  had  waited  all  day  for  the  girl;  he  had 
wanted  her  to  pose  in  the  open,  but  she  had 
failed  him  and  he  had  evidently  devoted  him- 
self to  the  picture  he  was  painting,  as  he  had 
told  her,  for  his  own  private  use.  "My  Pim- 
pernel," he  called  it,  and  rough  as  the  work  was 
at  that  stage,  it  was  full  of  beauty  and  promise. 
It  was  Janet,  little  more  than  sketched,  to  be 
sure,  but  a  startling  likeness;  and  the  wreath 
of  pimpernel  flowers,  on  the  glorious  sun- 
touched  hair,  had  evidently  been  the  artist's 
last  work. 

The  throne-like  space,  with  the  cushions  and 
low  divan  upon  which  the  girl  posed,  was  in 
full  view,  with  Thornly's  jacket  and  pipe  lying 
carelessly  upon  it.  The  curtain,  which  always 
hung  over  the  picture  for  Mr.  Mason,  was 
drawn  aside.  Apparently  the  man  had  had 
less  reason  to  hide  that  from  any  chance  visitor. 
Janet  walked  over  to  the  table  and  raised  the 
cover  of  the  chafing  dish. 

"He  ate  at  the  boarding  house,"  she  whis- 
pered, "else  I'd  have  to  wash  this.  He's 
scandalously  untidy!"  She  picked  up  a  glass 
and  sniffed. 

89 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Wine!"  she  announced,  "wine  for  a  party, 
—  and  cracker  crumbs!  Company!  I  wonder 
who  ?  One,  two,  three,  four  wineglasses. 
Bluff  Headers!"  Then  the  smile  trembled 
before  the  memory  of  Mr.  Devant's  proud, 
haughty  sister  and  the  young  lady  unlike  any 
one  the  dune-bred  girl  had  ever  seen  before. 
Not  even  the  most  gorgeous  boarder  in  the 
least  resembled  her.  She  was  so  icily  cold,  so 
calmly  beautiful;  so  exquisitely  dressed  in  white, 
white  always,  with  a  dash  of  gold  to  match  her 
smooth,  shining  hair!  No  power  could  draw 
Janet  to  Bluff  Head  after  the  one  visit  during 
which  the  two  ladies  had  frankly  and  conde- 
scendingly taken  stock  of  her,  evidently  in 
consequence  of  remarks  made  by  the  master  of 
the  house. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Janet  had  felt 
the  resentment  of  being  "looked  down  upon." 
Had  she  a  particle  of  malice  or  suspicion  in  her 
nature,  the  resentment  might  have  rankled  and 
grown  into  hate,  for  the  girl  had  all  the  pride 
and  independence  of  the  place.  As  it  was,  she 
had  withdrawn  into  herself,  like  the  flower  to 
which  she  had  been  likened,  and  had  vanished 
from  sight. 

"I  won't  wash  the  glasses!"  the  laugh 
rang  merrily  like  the  laugh  of  a  child;  "let 

90 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

her  wash  her  own  glass,  and  soil  her  pretty 
frock." 

But  this  declaration  of  independence  did  not 
prohibit  a  general  tidying  in  other  respects. 
The  north  window  shade  was  rolled  up  and  the 
sash  raised;  the  easel  drawn  out  into  place 
before  the  low  stool;  and  the  jacket  and  pipe 
arranged  conveniently  at  hand  for  the  master 
when  he  should  appear. 

"And  now,"  rippled  the  girl,  "I'll  give  him 
a  surprise  and  a  shock!"  First,  she  went  out- 
side, relocked  the  door  and  hid  the  key;  then 
nimbly  entered  the  hut  by  the  north  window. 
Once  inside  again,  she  closed  the  window  and, 
trembling  with  excitement  and  hurry,  ran  to  the 
posing  platform  and  flung  herself  among  the 
cushions.  Then  she  spread  her  hair  loosely 
over  the  sea-green  pillows  that  rose  around  her. 
The  net  was  caught  up  and  draped  about  the 
slim,  graceful  body.  Eyes  and  small  brown 
feet  showed  between  the  meshes;  the  conceit 
was  deliciously  bewildering! 

When  all  was  arranged,  she  cautiously  let  fall 
the  shielding  curtain  and  waited. 

"He'll  come  early!"  she  whispered,  "oh! 
very  early.  And  I  wonder  what  he  will  call  this 
picture  ?" 

The   night's   patrol,    and    the    mastering   of 

91 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Billy,  had  tired  the  girl.  The  couch  was  sleep- 
enticing,  the  pillows  dream-bringing,  and  the 
day  was  yet  young;  so  Janet  slept,  a  vision  to 
touch  any  heart,  one  to  stir  an  artist  to  holy 
rapture. 

How  long  she  slept  Janet  never  knew,  but 
the  grating  of  the  key  in  the  lock  awakened  her. 
Her  heart  beat  wildly  and  the  blood  ran  riot- 
ously in  her  veins.  The  door  opened,  some  one 
spoke;  and  then,  as  if  before  a  north  blast,  all 
the  glow  and  glory  of  Janet's  joy  froze  within 
her! 

"Was  n't  I  clever  to  watch  where  he  hid  the 
key,  Mr.  Devant  ?  And  how  utterly  good  of 
you  to  enter  the  conspiracy  and  help  me  find 
him  out!  I  know  he  has  an  immortal  picture 
somewhere  here!  He  wants  to  spring  it  upon 
you  and  me  along  with  the  herd,  by  and  by.  But 
we  wish  to  be  partakers  in  the  pleasure  of  prep- 
aration, do  we  not,  Mr.  Devant  ?" 

The  musical  voice  had  a  ring  in  it  not 
altogether  lovely.  "Stand  aside,  Mr.  Devant! 
See,  he  must  have  brought  his  work  out  after 
we  left  yesterday.  It  was  orderly  enough  then; 
but  look  at  it  now!  Let  us  examine  this  upon 
the  easel.  But  first,  open  the  door.  I  smell 
stale  wine.  The  untidy  fellow  has  not  washed 
the  glasses!" 

92 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Mr.  Devant  opened  the  door  and  said  with 
a  half  laugh,  "I'm  not  quite  sure  how  Dick 
will  like  this,  Katharine.  But  while  the  cat 's 
away  — " 

"Ah!"  The  word  came  sharply.  "Mr. 
Devant,  look  here!"  The  two  were  standing 
before  the  easel. 

"Good  Lord!"  cried  the  man.  "The  Pim- 
pernel! Katharine,  this  Dick  of  ours  has 
prepared  a  surprise  for  us  sure  enough!" 

"He  evidently  had  reasons  for  holding  us  at 
bay,  Mr.  Devant*"  A  thinly  veiled  sneer  was  in 
the  low,  even  voice.  "He  has  been  using  that 
wild,  odd,  young  creature  of  yours  as  a  model! 
And  he  has  never  told  you  ?  I  greatly  fear 
our  sly  Dick  has  been  —  well,  deceitful!" 

"Oh!  my  dear  girl!"  Devant  reassured  her, 
"you  do  not  understand.  Dick  has  probably 
had  to  procure  such  a  model  upon  terms  of 
secrecy,  not  on  his  own  account,  but  hers!  You 
do  not  know  these  people.  They  are  not  above 
taking  money,  but  they  make  their  own  terms." 

"Terms?"     Again  the  scornful  tone. 

"Yes,  my  dear!  Why,  what  do  you  think 
would  happen  if  I  called  my  cook  Eliza  instead 
of  Mrs.  Smith  ?  Starvation,  my  dear,  actual 
starvation!  And  I  carry  my  own  laundry  to 
Mrs.   Abner  Snow's,  —  carry  it  and  fetch   it. 

93 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

This  girl  now  might  be  willing  to  pose,  and 
you  must  admit  that  she  is  a  raving  beauty, 
but  she  would  hold  Dick  to  a  cast-iron  vow 
never  to  let  any  one  know.  What's  more,  I 
can  take  my  oath,  knowing  these  people  as 
I  do,  that  the  girl  never  sets  her  foot  in  Dick's 
shop  without  a  body  guard  of  at  least  one 
captain,  perhaps  three  or  four!" 

"Let  us  see  if  he  has  any  more  secrets!" 
There  was  relaxation  in  the  clear  voice.  "Let 
us  hurry;  Dick  may  be  here  at  any  moment, 
and  I  do  so  want  to  get  ahead  of  him  just  to 
punish  him  for  his  underhand  methods!" 

Janet  heard  the  two  turn;  she  knew  they 
were  coming  directly  to  the  platform. 

"Once,"  —  the  slow,  fine  voice  had  regained 
its  smoothness,  —  "once  in  New  York  I  dropped 
in  at  Dick's  studio  when  he  did  not  expect  me. 
I  wanted  him  to  take  me  out  to  luncheon;  and 
I  had  the  oddest  experience!  Oh!  Mr.  Devant, 
look  at  that  bit,  pinned  to  the  wall!  That  is 
really  exquisite!  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I 
stole  in  upon  Dick.  I  called  from  the  outer 
room  that  it  was  I  —  I  wished  afterward  that 
I  had  not!  —  and  then  I  ran  into  the  studio. 
As  quick  as  a  flash,  Dick  dropped  a  curtain, 
just  like  this,  between  me  and  his  easel!  I  was 
determined  to  see  what  he  had  been  painting, 

94 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

but  he  positively  forbade  it.  He  said  it  was  a 
painter's  prerogative  to  warn  even  —  love  from 
that  holy  of  holies.  I  often  wonder  what  was 
behind  the  curtain.  I  realized  from  that 
moment  that  if  you  want  to  see  a  great  artist's 
best  work,  you  must  override  his  modesty  and 
secretiveness  —  and  tear  the  screen  from  his 
altar!" 

With  a  light  laugh,  the  girl  now  drew  aside 
the  sheltering  curtain  with  playful,  dramatic 
force,  and  lay  bare  the  secret  that  it  hid ! 

Janet  did  not  move.  Her  great,  startled 
eyes,  dark,  intense,  and  passion-filled,  stared 
helplessly  at  the  two,  who,  transfixed,  returned 
the  stare  in  frozen  silence.  So  rigid  and  death- 
like the  model  lay  in  the  meshes  of  the  net,  so 
beautiful  and  graceful  in  her  motionless  pose, 
that  for  an  instant  the  intruders  could  not  trust 
their  senses.  Then  the  woman  found  voice 
and  action. 

"  I  fear,"  she  said  slowly,  coldly,  and  distantly, 
"I  fear  we  really  have  intruded  where  we  have 
no  right,  Mr.  Devant."  Then  she  laughed  a 
rich,  rippling  laugh.  "And  the  captains!  where 
are  the  captains,  my  dear  Mr.  Devant  ?  They 
seem  to  have  omitted  the  captains  to-day.  Pray 
let  us  go  at  once.  I  would  not  interfere  with 
Dick's  future  fame  for  all  the  world!     I  can 

95 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

quite  understand  why  artists  hide  their  best 
work  at  times!"  Without  a  word,  Mr.  Devant 
dropped  the  curtain. 

Janet  heard  them  go  out,  heard  them  lock 
the  door,  and  realized  that  they  hid  the  key. 
She  tried  to  get  up,  but  the  intention  was  only 
mental  and  died  without  an  effort.  A  physical 
sickness  and  bodily  weakness  held  her.  To 
lie  still  was  the  only  course  possible,  but  the 
thoughts  rushed  madly  through  the  awakened 
mind.  In  that  hour  womanly  instinct  was 
born,  the  instinct  that  armed  itself  against 
suspicion  and  another's  contempt.  Shame,  for 
what  was  not  real  but  suggested  by  a  coarser 
mind,  hurt  and  blinded  her.  The  child  in 
Janet  had  been  killed  by  that  white,  cold  woman, 
and  what  arose  was  more  terrible  than  the 
slayer  could  have  imagined,  for  this  new 
creature  scorned  the  innocence  and  weakness 
of  that  lately  crushed  childhood.  It  held  in 
contempt  the  poor,  vain,  cheap  thing  that  had 
offered,  actually  offered,  itself  to  a  being  that 
came  from  a  world  that  knew  and  had  power 
to  despise. 

Wave  after  wave  of  torment  engulfed  the 
poor  girl  as  she  lay  without  a  struggle  in  her 
net.  The  apple  of  understanding  had  been 
forced  between  her  lips  by  the  refined  cruelty 

96 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

of  another  woman.  Instinctively,  Janet  found 
a  sort  of  dumb  comfort  in  the  memory  of  the 
look  she  recalled  in  Mr.  Devant's  eyes,  but 
while  life  lasted  her  soul  would  shrivel  at  the 
memory  of  the  glance  which  that  proud,  beauti- 
ful girl  had  cast  upon  her. 

The  lovely  face  upon  the  sea-green  pillows 
paled  and  flushed  as  the  flood  of  growing  knowl- 
edge gathered  force.  The  eyes  grew  dark  and 
terror-racked,  and  misery  claimed  the  new- 
born woman. 

Then  again  the  key  grated  in  the  lock. 
Strengthened  by  the  perception  that  was  now 
hers,  the  girl  sprang  to  a  sitting  posture  and 
drew  her  feet  beneath  the  shelter  of  the  coarse 
red  skirt.  The  net  ensnared  her  further  and 
so  she  sat,  caught  fast  in  the  meshes  and  in  the 
terror  of  her  condition. 

Thornly  entered  the  room,  closed  and  locked 
the  door.  Then  he  opened  the  windows  wide. 
His  eye  and  ear  would  warn  him  of  intruders, 
and  the  breath  of  the  summer  day  he  must 
have!  Janet  heard  him  stop  before  the  easel; 
then  his  laugh,  contented  and  youth-filled, 
rang  clearly  in  the  little  room. 

" Beauty !"  he  muttered.  "Great  heaven, 
what  almost  weird  beauty!  My  Pimpernel, 
you'll  make  me  famous!"     Then  he  whistled 

97 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

gayly,  hung  up  his  coat  and  hat  —  did  not  the 
listening  girl  know  every  movement  ?  —  drew 
on  the  old  paint  besmirched  jacket,  and  filled 
his  pipe. 

"Dirty  wineglasses!"  he  muttered,  "bah! 
how  the  stale  wine  befouls  this  air!  Outside 
you  go  to  await  your  purification ! n  The  glasses 
were  set  jinglingly  upon  the  window  ledge. 
Then  Thornly  came  to  the  curtain  and  flung 
it  heedlessly  back. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  ejaculated,  and  staggered 
away.  The  panic-stricken  face,  that  met  his, 
paralyzed  him  for  the  moment;  then  he  laughed. 

"Pimpernel!"  he  drew  nearer;  "dear  child, 
you  are  as  full  of  surprises  as  this  glorious  day 
and  the  Hills.  You've  brought  me  a  new 
sensation,  a  heaven-sent  inspiration.  What  a 
partner  you  are!     God  bless  you!" 

"  Don't  you  —  touch  —  me ! "  Janet  warned 
off  the  extended  hands.  Her  arms  were  free, 
and  they  must  serve  her  now. 

"Janet!     What  ails  you,  child  ?" 

"I  do  not  know.  I  cannot  think.  Only  I 
know  you  must  not  touch  me;  and  —  and  I'm 
not  a  child  any  more!" 

Then  tears  came,  a  wild,  remorseful  flood. 
The  girl  swayed  upon  the  couch,  torn  by  the 
emotions    that    lashed    her    cruelly.    Thornly 

98 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

stood  apart.  Something  undefinable  held  him 
to  his  place.  He  recalled  the  first  day  he  had 
met  this  strange  girl  upon  the  Hills  and  her 
tears  then;  but  these  were  different.  In  a 
subtle,  unspeakable  way  he  realized  that  some- 
thing startling  had  brought  about  this  changed 
condition  from  yesterday's  Eden-like  life. 

"  I  wish  you  could  tell  me  what  is  the  matter," 
he  said  pityingly  and  quietly.  He  did  not 
move  toward  her,  but  his  tone,  with  its  sym- 
pathet;c  reserve,  did  the  one  thing  he  longed 
to  do;  It  drew  the  girl's  trust  and  confidence. 
The  storm  of  sobs  lessened.  The  hidden 
face  was  raised  and  the  burden  of  fear  and 
distress  lifted  slowly. 

"  They  —  have  been  here ! "  The  words  came 
upon  the  crest  of  the  last  sob. 

"  They  —  who  ? "     Thornly's  eyes  contracted. 

"  Mr.  Devant  and  the  one  he  calls  Katharine." 

"Great  heavens!     And  you  let  them  in?" 

"They  found  the  key  and  came  in."  Thornly 
muttered  something  inaudibly.  "They  wanted 
to  see  your  pictures;  they  saw  everything,  and 
me!"  Again  the  misery  spread  over  the  vivid 
face.  Thornly  was  unable  to  take  his  eyes 
from  that  pitiful  gaze,  but  for  a  moment  his 
own  position  in  this  play  held  part. 

"What  did  they  say  ?"  he  asked  at  length. 

99 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Mr.  Devant  said  nothing!  I  cannot  re- 
member what  she  said  —  but  whatever  it  was, 
it  made  me  know  that  she  thinks  me  —  oh! 
what  can  I  say  ?  —  something  too  awful  to 
bear!  And  you,  you  knew  what  women  like 
her  might  think!  That  is  why  you  made  me 
promise  not  to  tell;  that  is  why  you  kept  the 
door  locked!  You  knew  how  the  people  like 
her  would  scorn  me!  and  yet  you  would  not 
save  me!  Oh!  I  know  it  was  because  of  your 
pictures!  You  would  let  folks  like  her  think 
what  they  wanted  to,  so  long  as  you  got  what 
you  wanted!"  The  brief  confidence  in  him 
was  gone. 

There  was  a  power  in  this  fury  that  shook 
Thornly  as  he  listened.  The  blazing  face  of 
outraged  womanhood  confronted  him,  and  the 
accusation  brought  truth  and  torment  with  it. 

"Get  what  I  wanted  ?"  he  groped  blindly  in 
his  soul  for  an  honest  answer  as  to  what  he  had 
wanted. 

"Yes.  What  you  wanted!  You  wanted  my 
face,  because  it  is  beautiful;  because  I  was 
like  this  place,  the  Hills  and  dunes!  You 
thought  me  like  them,  just  a  thing  to  put  upon 
your  canvas  to  make  you  rich  and  famous! 
But  I  am  a  girl,  like  that  girl  up  at  Bluff  Head ! 
I  am  as  good  as  she!" 

ioo 


JANET  OF  THE;£>UNES 

"My  God!"  Thornly  looked  at  the  bowed 
head,  that  sank  again  beneath  the  waves  of 
passion.  His  eyes  grew  dim  and  his  face 
paled.  His  soul  had  answered  and  had  passed 
judgment  that  gave  him  grace  to  breathe 
freely ! 

"Janet,"  he  said  gently,  "my  poor  girl!  I 
am  going  to  wait  by  the  door  until  you  get  out 
of  the  net  and  into  your  shoes;  then  come  to 
me.  I  have  much,  much  to  say  to  you."  He 
did  not  offer,  by  thought  or  motion,  to  assist 
her.  He  turned  and  sat  guard  by  the  open 
door,  puffing  vigorously  at  his  pipe. 

Janet  disentangled  herself  and  put  on  her 
stockings  and  shoes.  Then,  shod  and  with  a 
strange  dignity,  she  crossed  the  room  and  stood 
beside  the  man,  leaning  against  the  jamb  of  the 
door  for  support. 

Thornly  looked  up  and  smiled;  then  he  shook 
the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  placed  it  in  his  pocket, 
and  offered  Janet  his  stool.  She  shook  her 
head. 

"I'll  sit  on  the  sand,"  she  said,  and  sank 
down  outside  the  door. 

"  My  poor  Janet,"  Thornly  began,  "  I  do  not 
know  what  to  say.  I  want  to  make  you  under- 
stand and  I  am  afraid  I  may  make  further 
mistakes.     I  see  I  have  wronged  you.     In  a 

IOI 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

sense,  I've  been  a  bungling  fool;  but  as  true  as 
God  hears  me,  I  did  n't  want  you  upon  rny 
canvas  for  any  low  or  mean  reason.  I  swear 
that  as  truly  as  I  ever  spoke.  It  seemed  my 
right  to  make  live  what  I  saw  in  you.  Maybe 
it  was  not  my  right  —  I  begin  to  fear  it  was  not 
—  but  it  seemed  so  at  first.  I  don't  know  how  to 
say  it,  but  somewhere  I  have  read  a  thought  like 
this.  When  an  artist  enters  his  studio  he  hangs 
up  his  passions  with  his  coat  and  hat.  You  won't 
understand  that.  No  woman  can,  perhaps, 
and  not  many  men;  but  it's  true  as  surely  as 
heaven  hears  me!  and  it  accounts  for  a  deal  of 
good  as  well  as  bad!  That  is  the  way  I  felt, 
I  was  greedy  to  catch  you  as  I  saw  you.  I 
wanted  no  one  to  share  the  triumph.  I  never 
thought  of  women  like  Katharine  or  men  like 
Mr.  Devant.  I  did  think  of  the  Quinton  folks, 
and  that  is  the  only  reason  I  locked  the  door! 
Please  try  and  believe  that,  my  dear  girl!  If 
I  had  one  unselfish  thought,  it  was  for  you  and 
for  your  people,  not  for  the  others  like  those  at 
Bluff  Head.  I  could  have  told  them  all  about 
it  when  my  pictures  were  hung  at  the  Academy; 
and  that  would  have  ended  it." 

The  girl  upon  the  sands  sat  with  hands 
clasped  around  her  knees.  Her  dark,  clear 
eyes  never  wavered  from  the  speaker's  face, 

102 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

and  Thornly  saw  trust  and  a  growing  calm 
rising  in  them  again. 

"If  I  had  gone  far  enough  in  thought,"  he 
continued,  "I  might  have  hoped  that  such 
beauty  and  power  as  you  have  would  have 
made  you  great  and  strong  enough  in  nature 
to  want  to  help  make  these  pictures,  in  spite  of 
everything!  I  believe  in  a  slow,  dull  way  I  did 
think  that  about  you  once  in  a  while.  I  know 
I  never  meant  to  harm  the  woman  in  you, 
Janet;  believe  me,  I  swear  that!" 

His  eyes  met  hers  and  never  faltered.  The 
girl  drew  a  long  breath.  Then  she  shivered 
slightly  and  sighed  again. 

"I  —  I  think  I  see,  a  little,  what  you  mean,** 
she  quivered;  "you  thought  I  was  better  than  I 
am.  Higher,  nobler  than  some  folks,  because 
I  am  so  —  so  beautiful?"  Not  a  shadow  of 
common  vanity  rang  through  the  words.  "You 
thought  I  would  be  glad  to  help  in  your  pictures 
and  never  care  what  others  might  think,  others 
who  cannot  understand  ?  You  are  a  great 
artist,  and  you  thought  me  an  artist  —  but  in  a 
different  way  ?  Oh !  it  comes  to  me  just  as 
Davy's  Light  comes  of  an  early  morning,  when 
the  fog  lifts.  What  a  mean,  wretched  thing  I 
have  been  to  let  stings  hurt,  when  that  splen- 
did picture  —  waits  —  for  —  me!"    A  radiance 

103 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

spread  over  the  wistful  face.  Thornly  was 
dazzled  and  could  only  stare  helplessly. 

"See,"  she  had  arisen,  and  stood  before  him 
in  all  her  strong,  young  beauty;  "you  need  me  ? 
Without  me  you  cannot  make  your  splendid 
picture  ?" 

Thornly  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  not  the  money  you  want,  nor  just  the 
fame,  but  you  want  to  give  the  world  a  great 
joy." 

"Yes,  yes!  As  God  is  my  witness,  Janet, 
that  is  my  desire." 

"Then  I  will  help.  Oh!  forgive  me!  Come, 
please,  come,  only"  —  here  she  smiled  pitifully 
—  "please  leave  the  door  open!  It  shall  never 
matter  again;  nothing  can  change  things  now." 

Thornly  staggered  to  his  feet  and  half  ex- 
tended his  hand  to  draw  the  girl  in;  then  some- 
thing stayed  him. 

"I  cannot  paint  to-day,  Janet,"  he  whispered. 
"Something  is  changed.  Perhaps  the  old  long- 
ing will  return,  but  I  must  not  trust  myself 
until  I  know.  Go,  little  Pimpernel,  you  are 
the  greater  artist  of  us  two!" 

"I'm  very  sorry  the  day  is  spoiled,"  she 
returned  brokenly;  "if  I  had  only  known  more, 
it  would  have  been  different.  It  seems  as  if 
I  cannot  ever  forgive  myself." 

104 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

She  turned,  and  went  sadly  over  the  hills 
with  never  a  backward  look.  And  Thornly 
gazed  after  her  with  yearning  eyes.  She  was 
taking  with  her  —  what  ?  Inspiration  ?  Yes, 
but  something  deeper  and  more  vital  was  pass- 
ing with  that  vanishing  form.  What  was  it  ? 
What  had  occurred  to  change  the  summer  sun- 
light to  drearest  gray  ? 


105 


CHAPTER  VII 

LATE  August  hung  heavily  over  Quinton. 
The  city  folks,  who  counted  their  year's 
playtime  by  two  weeks'  vacation,  had 
come  and  gone,  in  relays.  The  artists,  never 
tiring  of  the  changing  charms  of  this  new-found 
beauty-spot,  gave  no  heed  to  the  passing  season. 
Only  cold,  and  acute  bodily  suffering  could 
attract  their  attention.  Good,  poor,  and  in- 
different revelled  in  the  inspiration-haunted 
Hills  and  magnificent  sweep  of  shore. 

The  natives  counted  their  gains  with  bated 
breath  and  dreamed  visions  of  future  summers 
that  made  them  dizzy. 

Poor  Susan  Jane  was  the  only  woman,  ap- 
parently, upon  the  mainland,  who  had  swung 
at  anchor  through  all  the  changed  conditions. 
Susan,  who  once  had  been  the  ruling  spirit  of 
the  village  and  Station!  Susan,  whose  sharp 
tongue  and  all-seeing  eye  had  governed  her 
kind!  Susan  had  been  obliged  to  gather  such 
bits  of  driftwood  as  had  floated  to  her  chair, 
during  the  history-making  season,  —  and  draw 

106 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

such  pleasure  from  It  as  she  could.  The  strain 
had  worn  upon  the  paralyzed  body.  The  active 
mind  had  stretched  and  stretched  for  material 
until  the  helpless  frame  weakened.  The  sharp 
tongue  was  two-edged  now,  and  gossip  that 
reached  Susan  Jane  assumed  the  blackest  color. 
Her  searching  eyes  saw  through  everything, 
and  gripped  all  secrets. 

David's  songs,  as  he  mounted  the  winding 
stairs,  took  on  a  soberer  strain.  Sometimes  he 
omitted,  even  at  the  top,  his  hilarious  outburst 
to  the  "lobster  pots;"  and  his  sigh  and  laugh 
combination  was  an  hourly  occurrence. 

Janet  noticed  it  all.  She  was  alive  to  the 
atmospheric  chill  of  the  village,  though  in  no 
wise  understanding  it.  She  was  troubled  and 
fretted  by  many  things,  but  she  went  her  way. 
The  money  she  had  earned  by  posing  she  dealt 
out  in  miserly  fashion  to  Susan  Jane;  while  at 
the  same  time  she  assumed  many  household 
cares  to  ease  David,  whom  she  loved. 

There  was  no  more  money  coming  to  her 
now,  for  after  the  scene  in  the  hut  upon  the 
Hills  Thornly  had  gone  away  for  a  week,  and 
upon  his  return  he  had  told  Janet  he  would 
send  her  a  message  when  again  he  needed  her. 
The  man's  tone  had  been  most  kindly,  but  it 
seemed  a  rebuff  from  which  the  girl  had  not 

107 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

been  able  to  recover.  Once  or  twice  she  had 
stolen  to  the  hut,  when  she  was  sure  the  master 
was  away;  always  the  key  was  in  its  hiding 
place.  Softly  she  had  gone  in  and  stood  in  the 
sacred  room.  The  same  picture  stood  ever 
upon  the  easel,  the  same  beautiful  unfinished 
picture!  Upon  one  visit  the  girl  had  taken  a 
rare  pimpernel  blossom  she  had  found  in  a 
lonely  hollow  and  laid  it  on  the  empty  stool 
before  the  canvas.  It  was  still  there  when  she 
went  again!  Faded  and  neglected  it  lay  before 
the  shrine,  and  the  message  never  came  that 
was  to  call  her  to  the  Hills. 

The  people  of  the  village,  too,  were  different. 
They  were  busy  and  took  small  notice  of  the 
girl.  Business,  Janet  thought,  was  the  only 
reason.  Mrs.  Jo  G.  in  particular  was  changed, 
but  it  had  been  a  hard  summer  for  Mrs.  Jo  G., 
and  when,  after  many  attempts  to  secure  Janet 
as  waitress,  she  had  failed,  she  turned  upon  the 
girl  sharply. 

"You  might  be  doin'  worse  things!"  she 
snapped,  "you're  growin'  more  an'  more  like 
yer  ma,  an'  it  ain't  t'  yer  credit!"  That  was 
the  first  inroad  the  oncoming  wave  of  sentiment 
had  made  in  the  bulkhead  of  local  reticence. 

Janet  started.  "What  do  you  mean?"  she 
asked. 

108 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"What  I  sayo  An*  what's  more,  Janet,  if 
you  can't  turn  in  an'  be  useful  t'  them  as  was 
good  enough  fur  you  before,  you  can  stop  away 
from  us  altogether.  I  don't  want  Maud  Grace 
t'  get  any  fool  notions  in  her  head." 

Once  Janet  would  have  turned  upon  such  an 
attack,  but  somehow  the  spring  of  resistance 
was  checked.  After  all  what  did  it  matter  ? 
But  she  took  her  mother's  picture  from  the 
carpet-bag  that  night  and  hid  it  in  her  blouse 
with  the  long-silent  whistle!  More  and  more 
she  remained  at  the  lighthouse.  Seldom,  even, 
did  she  sail  over  to  the  dunes  and  never  unless 
she  felt  strong  enough  to  leave  a  pleasant  im- 
pression upon  Billy.  Over  all  this,  Mark 
Tapkins  watched  and  brooded,  and  he  slouched 
more  dejectedly  between  the  Light  and  his 
father's  little  home. 

"I  tell  you!"  he  often  confided  to  his  inner 
self,  "city  life  is  blightin'!  When  I  was  there, 
it  took  the  breath  out  o'  me,  an'  now  it's  come 
t'  Quinton,  it's  knocked  a  good  many  different 
from  what  they  once  was!"  With  this  oft- 
repeated  sentiment  Mark  reached  his  father's 
door  one  day  and  through  it  caught  the  smell 
of  frying  crullers.  Old  Pa  Tapkins  was  realiz- 
ing his  harvest  from  the  boarders  by  acting 
upon  Janet's  suggestion  to  Mark.     From  early 

109 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

sunrise  until  the  going  down  of  the  sun,  Pa, 
when  not  necessarily  preparing  food  for  three 
regular  meals,  was  mixing,  shaping,  frying,  and 
selling  his  now  famous  cakes.  People,  in  pass- 
ing, inhaled  the  fragrance  of  Pa's  cooking  and 
stopped  to  regale  themselves  and  take  samples 
to  friends  who  were  yet  to  be  initiated.  Pa 
and  his  crullers  were  becoming  bywords,  and 
they  often  helped  out,  where  meals  at  the  board- 
ing place  failed  and  conversation  lacked  humor. 

As  Mark  stepped  into  the  kitchen,  not  only 
his  father,  but  Captain  Billy  hailed  him. 

"Hello!  Cap'n  Billy,"  cried  Mark,  "come  off 
fur  a  change,  have  ye?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  Billy  replied  through  a  mouthful 
of  cruller,  hot  enough  to  make  an  ordinary  man 
groan  with  pain.  "Yes,  yes;  I've  come  off  t' 
see  the  doin's." 

"Well,  there  is  considerable  goin's  on,"  Mark 
nodded,  and  calmly  helped  himself  to  a  cake 
that  was  still  sizzling;  "there  don't  seem  t'  be 
no  signs  of  lettin'  up  on  us!" 

"Now,  Markie!"  purred  Pa  from  the  stove, 
"that  ain't  puttin'  the  case  jest  as  it  is.  Looked 
at  from  some  p'ints,  we  are  the  clutchers." 

Pa  was  a  mild  little  man  with  a  round, 
innocent  face,  and  flaxen  hair  rising  in  a  curly 
halo  about  it.     His  china-blue  eyes  had  all  the 

no 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

trust  and  surprise  of  a  newly  awakened  baby. 
Life  had  always  been  to  Pa  Tapkins  a  mild 
series  of  shocks,  and  he  parried  each  statement 
and  circumstance  in  order  that  he  might  haply 
recognize  it  if  he  ran  across  it  again,  or,  more 
properly  speaking,  if  it  struck  him  a  smarting 
blow  again.  Pa  never  ran  at  all.  As  nearly 
as  any  mortal  can  be  stationary,  Pa  was;  but 
in  the  nature  of  things,  passing  events  touched 
him  more  or  less  sharply  in  their  progress. 

"It  ain't  all  their  doin's,  Markie,  now  is  it  ?" 

"Like  as  not  it  ain't,  Pa.  Sold  many  crullers 
t'-day?" 

"I've  sold  all  I've  made,  up  t'  this  batch, 
Markie,  an'  I've  been  putterin'  over  the  heat 
since  the  mornin'  meal." 

"Well,  I'll  lay  the  things  on  fur  the  noon 
meal,  Pa,  you  tend  t'  business." 

"But  you  ain't  slept,  Markie.  Up  all  night 
an'  no  sleep  nex'  day!  'T  won't  do,  Markie, 
now  will  it?" 

"I'll  sleep,  come  night  time."  Mark  seized 
his  third  almost  boiling  cruller  and  turned  to 
Billy, 

"You  ain't  seen  Janet,  hev  you  ?" 

Billy  looked  guilty.  "No,  an'  1  ain't  a-goin' 
t*  this  trip.     Mark,  how  is  things  at  the  Light  ?" 

"Squally   as  t'  Susan  Jane.      Seein'   others 

in 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

spry  while  she's  chained  by  the  stroke  ain't 
addin'  t'  Susan  Jane's  Christian  qualities." 

"Stormin'  at  Janet?" 

"Janet  comes  in  fur  her  share,  but  David 
gets  the  toughest  blasts.  I  don't  see  how 
Davy  weathers  it,  an'  still  keeps  a  song  an'  a 
smile." 

"An'  him  doin'  another  man's  stint,  too," 
Pa  put  in,  dropping  a  brown  ring  on  the  floor, 
spearing  it  adroitly  again,  and  flipping  it  upon 
the  paper-covered  platter.  "If  William  Henry 
Jones  had  n't  gone  down  in  that  squall  thirty 
years  ago,  an'  if  Davy  had  n't  thought  it  was 
his  duty  t'  carry  out  his  mate's  plans,  I'm 
thinkin'  Susan  Jane  might  have  been  different 
an'  Davy  might  not  have  had  sich  tormentin' 
experiences.  Least,  that  is  how  it  struck  me 
thirty  year  back,  an'  it  strikes  me  so  yet." 

Billy  nodded  appreciatively. 

"  'T  ain't  always  wise  t'  tackle  somebody 
else's  job,"  Mark  joined  in,  "that's  what  come 
t'  me  in  the  city.  City  jobs  ain't  fur  you!  that's 
what  I  said  t'  myself.  Salt  air  was  in  my 
nostrils,  the  sound  of  the  sea  in  my  ears,  an'  I 
could  n't  any  more  hear  t'  the  teachin'  of  city 
ways,  than  the  city  folks  can  learn  of  us  here 
on  the  coast." 

Again  Billy  nodded.     He  felt  his  spirits  ris- 

112 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

ing  as  he  looked  upon  this  man  of  the  world 
and  knew  him  as  a  friend. 

"  Draw  up,  Pa  and  Cap'n  Billy ! "  Mark  had 
collected  a  large  and  varied  repast.  "Have 
some  cold  fowl,  Cap'n,  an*  a  couple  o'  'taters. 
Lay  hold  of  a  brace  o'  them  ears  o'  corn.  Over 
half  a  yard  long  an*  as  near  black  as  purple 
ever  is.  Inside  they're  white  an'  milky  enough. 
Have  some  blackberry  pie,  'long  with  yer  fowl, 
Cap'n.  'T  ain't  every  day  you  can  get  Pa's 
cookin';  an'  I  bleve  in  mixin'  good  victuals. 
It's  what  Nater  does." 

Billy  took  everything  suggested  and  ate  it 
indiscriminately,  and  this  example  was  ably 
followed  by  his  hosts. 

"Mark!"  Billy  after  a  long  but  significant 
silence  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  wiped  his 
mouth  on  the  back  of  his  hand,  "Mark,  I'm 
goin'  t'  ask  ye  t'  jine  me  in  a  rather  shady  job. 
Do  ye  happen  t'  know  the  particular  women 
painters  as  is  usin'  Janet  fur  a  —  modil?" 

Mark  strangled  over  a  kernel  of  corn  and 
stared,  teary-eyed,  at  Billy. 

"Modil  ?"  he  finally  gasped,  "modil  ?  Why, 
Cap'n,  that  ain't  no  word  t'  tack  ont'  Janet. 
Modils  ain't  moral  or  decint.  I  learned  that  in 
th*  city  from  a  painter-chap  as  use  t'  come  in  t' 
the  shop  an'  eat  isters  when  he  could  afford  it." 

"3 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Billy's  face  lengthened. 

"  'T  is'mong  friends  I  speak  ?"  Billy  dropped 
his  voice.  Both  men  nodded.  "Well,  Janet  is 
a  modil  t'  some  of  them  dirty-aproned  women 
painters!  An'  I  want  t'  see  just  how  they've 
took  her,  an'  what  they  calkerlate  t'  do  with 
the  picteri  Andrew  Farley  has  been  modilin' 
fur  them,  an'  Andy's  'count  of  how  he  looks  in 
paint  ain't  pleasant.  I  don't  know  as  I  want 
Janet  shown  up  in  the  city  kinder  onsightly." 

During  this  explanation  Mark's  countenance 
had  assumed  an  expression  of  intense  suffering. 
Bits  of  gossip  arose  like  channel  stakes  in  the 
troubled  water  of  his  misery.  Like  the  bits 
of  red  cloth  which  marked  the  stakes  in  the 
bay,  Susan  Jane's  emphasis  of  such  gossip 
fluttered  wildly  in  this  hour,  Through  the 
channel,  clearly  set  by  these  signals,  was  a  wide 
course  leading  direct  to  a  certain  hut  upon  the 
Hills  of  which  silent,  watchful  Mark  knew! 

"She  ain't  no  modil,  Cap'n,  don't  say  that!" 
he  finally  managed  to  get  out;  "that's  jest 
scandalous  gossip." 

"She  told  me  herself!"  Billy  brought  his 
tilted  chair  to  the  floor;  "an'  I  got  t'  keep  this 
visit  secret.  But,  since  the  gal  ain't  got  no 
mother,  I've  got  t'  do  double  duty,  Knowin' 
how  up  in  city  ways  ye  are,  Mark,  I  thought 

114 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

maybe  ye'd  pilot  me  on  this  trip,  I'm  tumble 
clumsy  with  strangers,  specially  women,  an* 
I  want  t'  do  what's  right." 

"  'T  ain't  —  a  —  woman ! M  This  declaration 
was  wrung  from  Mark. 

"What's  that  ?"     Billy  sprang  from  his  chair. 

"Now,  Markie,  do  be  keerful!"  cautioned 
Pa,  "don't  make  no  statement  ye  can't  stand 
by.    Nation!  that  fat  is  burnin'!"  ' 

"I  said,  't  war  n't  no  woman  painter  as  done 
Janet.  If  she  has  been  a  modil  —  an'  't  were 
you  as  said  that  —  she's  been  one  to  a  man!" 

The  horror  on  Billy's  face  was  pitiful. 

"Can  you  locate  him  f "  he  asked  in  trembling 
tones.     Mark  nodded. 

"Come  on,  then!" 

In  silence  the  two  departed.  Pa  hardly 
noticed  them;  the  burning  fat  claimed  his 
entire  attention. 

Mark  strode  ahead  toward  the  Hills  and 
Billy,  with  the  swing  of  the  lonely  patrols, 
brought  up  the  rear. 

It  was  the  dining  hour  and  Quinton  was 
almost  deserted  in  the  hot  August  noon. 

"Don't  let's  get  het  up,"  advised  Mark 
presently;  "city  folks  is  powerful  clever  'bout 
keepin'  cool  inside  an'  out." 

**I'm  already  het!"  panted  Billy. 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Let's  take  it  easier;"  Mark  paused  in  the 
path,  and  wiped  his  streaming  face.  They  did 
not  speak  again  until  Thornly' s  hut  was  almost 
at  their  feet.  Billy's  face  was  grim  and  threat- 
ening, but  Mark's  showed  signs  of  doubt  and 
wavering.  His  recollections  of  city  calm  and 
coolness  were  not  uplifting  in  this  emergency. 
Folks  in  town  had  always  outwitted  Mark  by 
their  calmness. 

Thornly's  door  was  set  open  to  strangers 
and  whatever  air  was  stirring.  He,  himself, 
was  sitting  inside,  his  back  to  his  coming  guests 
and  his  eyes  upon  the  unfinished  picture  upon 
the  easel. 

Remnants  of  a  chafing-dish  meal  were  spread 
upon  a  small  table,  and  silence  brooded  over 
all.  It  was  only  when  Mark  and  Billy  stood 
at  the  door  that  Thornly  turned.  The  look 
of  expectancy  died  in  his  eyes  as  he  saw  the 
weather-beaten  countenance  of  Billy,  and  the 
shamefaced  features  of  Mark. 

"I  do  not  want  any  sitters,  thank  you," 
said  he. 

"We  don't  want  t*  set,"  Billy  replied  firmly 
.and  clearly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  Thornly  smiled  pleas- 
antly, "you  see  nearly  all  of  them  do.  Won't 
you  come  in  ?" 

116 


'*  The  two  men  stood  spellbound  before  the  easel.' ' 

Page  117 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

i 

"It's  cooler  outside,"  ventured  Mark. 

"There  is  n't  much  difference,"  said  Thornly, 
rising  courteously. 

"I'm  Cap'n  Billy  Morgan!"  This  state- 
ment appeared  to  interest  Thornly  immensely. 

"I'm  glad  to  meet  you,"  he  answered. 

"Are  ye  a  painter-man?"  asked  Billy. 

"I've  been  dubbed  that  occasionally." 
Thornly  laughed.    "What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"Did  you  ever  have  a  —  modil?"  Mark 
broke  in  breathlessly,  feeling  he  must  help 
Billy  out,  no  matter  what  his  own  feelings  were. 

"I've  even  been  guilty  of  that!" 

"Did  ye  ever  have  my  Janet  ?" 

Poor  Billy's  trouble,  knowing  no  restraint  of 
city  ways  or  roundabout  methods,  rushed  forth 
sharply. 

Thornly  changed  color  perceptibly. 

"Come  in,"  he  urged,  "the  glare  is  really  too 
painful." 

The  two  awkwardly  stepped  inside.  Then 
Mark's  eyes  fell  upon  the  canvas. 

"Cap'n!"  he  groaned,  "look  at  this!"  The 
two  men  stood  spellbound  before  the  easel,  and 
Thornly  watched  them  curiously. 

"It's  her!"  muttered  Billy,  "it's  her!  Poor 
little  thing!  she's  jest  drifted  without  a  hand 
upon  the  tiller."     The  visitors  forgot  Thornly. 

117 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"I  didn't  think  I  had  more'n  the  right  t' 
watch,  Cap'n."  Mark's  voice  was  full  of  tears 
as  he  said  this. 

"Ye  had  the  right  t'  shout  out  a  call  t*  me, 
lad.  You'd  have  done  the  like  fur  any  little 
skiff  you'd  seen  in  danger,"  Then  he  turned 
upon  Thornly.  "  What  right  hev  ye  got  t'  steal 
rny  gal's  looks  ?  An*  what  tricks  hev  ye  used 
t5  git  'em,  an'  her  happiness  'long  with  'em?" 

Thornly  winced.  "Her  happiness?"  he 
asked  helplessly,  not  knowing  what  else  to 
say. 

"Yes,  Her  happiness!  Don't  ye  s'pose  that 
I,  what  has  watched  her  since  she  came  int' 
port,  watched  her  an'  loved  her,  an*  sot  hopes 
on  her,  don't  ye  think  I  know  the  difference 
'twixt  her  happiness  an'  the  sham  thing?" 

"Good  Lord!"  breathed  Thorniy,  "are  you 
speaking  truth  ?" 

Billy  drew  himself  up  with  a  dignity  Thornly 
shrank  before. 

"Thar  ain't  anythin'  but  the  truth  good 
enough  t'  use,  when  we're  talkin'  of  my  little 
gal!"  he  said  quietly  o  He  felt  no  need  of  Mark, 
nor  knowledge  of  city  ways. 

Mark  was  still  riveted  before  the  picture. 
Slow  tears  were  rolling  down  his  twitching  face. 
The  calamity  that  had   overtaken  Janet  was 

118 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

like  death,  and  this  lovely  smiling  face  upon 
the  canvas  was  but  the  dear  memory  of  her! 

"I  never  meant  to  harm  her/'  said  Thornly 
presently.  "I  cannot  hope  that  you  will  under- 
stand; it  has  only  recently  come  to  me,  the 
understanding.  I  have  always  thought  the 
artist  in  me  had  a  right  to  seize  and  make  my 
own  all  that  my  eye  saw  that  was  beautifuL 
Lately  the  man  in  me  has  uprisen  and  shown 
me  that  I  have  been  a  fool  —  a  fool  and  a 
thief!" 

"That's  what  you  are!"  blubbered  Mark, 
"that  last's  what  you  are!  You've  taken 
Janet's  good  name,  you've  taken  her  hap- 
piness—  and  you've  taken  her  frum  us!" 
Thornly's  color  rose,  but  a  look  at  the 
speaker's  distorted  face  hushed  the  angry 
words  he  was  about  to  utter.  He  turned  to 
Billy  as  to  an  equal. 

"Captain  Morgan,"  he  said  quietly,  "I  have 
done  nothing  to  harm  your  daughter's  good 
name,  in  the  eyes  of  any  man  or  woman!  That 
I  swear  before  God.  In  that  I  yearned  to 
make  her  wonderful  beauty  add  to  my  reputa- 
tion, I  plead  my  blind  selfishness;  but  above 
all  I  wanted  to  give  to  the  world  a  pleasure  that 
you  can  never  realize,  I  think,  and  I  believe 
your  daughter  is  great  enough  to  give  all,  that 

119 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

I  ruthlessly  took  without  asking,  to  help  me 
give  the  world  that  picture !"  His  own  eyes 
turned  to  the  pure,  exquisite  face. 

"Like  as  not  she  would!"  Billy  replied,  "like 
as  not  she  would.  Was  there  ever  a  woman  as 
was  n't  willin'  t'  fling  herself  away,  if  a  man 
was  reckless  enough  t'  p'int  the  path  out  t'  her  ? 
An'  do  ye  think  I'm  goin*  t9  [let  ye  take  my 
Janet's  dear  face  int'  that  hell-place  of  a  city; 
an'  have  folks  starin'  at  her,  folks  what  ain't 
fit  t'  raise  their  eyes  t'  her  ?  Ain't  ye  done 
her  enough  wrong  without  takin'  her  sacrifice, 
if  she's  willin'  t'  make  it  ?" 

"Good  God,  man!  I'm  willing  to  do  all  I 
can.  That  picture  is  worth  hundreds  of  dollars 
to  me  and  untold  pleasure  to  many  besides; 
but  I  am  willing  to  do  with  it  just  what  you 
think  best." 

"Then  cut  it  open,  Mark!"  Billy's  tone 
rose  shrilly.  "Slash  it  top  an'  bottom  an*  don't 
leave  a  trace  o'  Janet." 

Mark  drew  from  his  pocket  a  huge  clasp 
knife.  He  trembled  as  he  opened  it  and  stood 
back  to  strike  the  first  blow. 

"Stop!"  Thornly  sprang  between  him  and 
the  canvas.  "Stop!  I  could  easier  see  some 
savage  devastate  the  beauty  of  these  Hills. 
Wait!     I  swear  to  leave  it  as  it  is.     I  swear  that 

120 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

no  eyes  but  ours  shall  rest  upon  it;  but  you  shall 
not  destroy  it!" 

Command  and  power  rang  in  Thornly's 
voice.     Mark  wavered.     Billy  hung  his  head. 

"Arter  all,"  he  groaned,  "we  ain't  none  o' 
us  got  the  final  right.  Janet 's  my  gal,  but  her 
beauty  is  hers,  an'  God  Almighty's.  Keep  the 
picter  till  such  time  as  my  Janet  can  judge  an' 
say.  The  time  will  come  when  she'll  get  her 
bearin's,  with  full  instructions;  an'  then  she'll 
judge  among  us  all!" 

The  two  rough  men  turned  toward  the  door. 
"When  she  tells  ye,"  Billy  paused  to  say,  "she'll 
be  wiser  than  what  she  is  t'-day,  poor  little 
critter!" 

Thornly  watched  the  men,  in  stern  silence, 
until  they  passed  from  sight;  then  he  went  back 
to  the  easel. 

"Pimpernel,"  he  whispered  brokenly,  "poor 
little  wild  flower,  out  of  place  among  us  all!" 
He  drew  a  heavy  cloth  over  the  radiant  face, 
and  with  reverent  hand  placed  the  canvas 
against  the  wall  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the 
room. 

Late  that  afternoon  Billy's  boat  put  off  for 
the  Station  in  the  teeth  of  a  rising  gale  and  amid 
ominous  warnings  of  thunder. 

121 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Susan  Jane  grew  more  irritable  and  nervous 
as  the  storm  rose.  She  feared  storm  and 
lightning. 

"Janet,  ain't  that  Billy's  sail  crossin*  the 
bay?"  she  said.     Janet  came  to  the  window. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  she  faltered;  "and  he's  going 
on!" 

"Well,  what  do  you  suppose?  Ain't  he  got 
t'  get  back  by  sundown  ?  'T  would  be  a  pretty 
pass  if  he'd  come  off  at  sundown." 

"But  he's  been  off  all  day,  likely  as  not!" 
Janet's  lip  quivered. 

"Well,  s'pose  he  has.  Are  you  goin'  t'  be 
one  of  them  tormentin'  women  who  is  always 
naggin'  a  man  about  what  he's  doin'  an'  what 
he  ain't  a-doin'  ?    Where's  David  ?" 

"He's  gone  up  into  the  Light,  Susan  Jane." 

The  woman  turned  anxiously  toward  the 
window.  "It's  an  awful  storm  risin',  Janet. 
Wind  off  sea,  but  changin'  every  minute. 
Draw  the  shade.  I'm  fearin'  the  ocean  will 
rise  high  enough  fur  us  t'  see  the  breakers  over 
the  dunes!  I  ain't  seen  the  ocean  fur  thirty 
odd  years,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  t'  now!"  Her 
voice  rose  hysterically,  like  a  frightened  child's. 
"I  jest  won't  see  the  ocean!"  Janet  pulled  the 
green  shade  down,  and  hid  from  her  own  aching 
eyes  the  vanishing  sight  of  Billy's  struggling 

122 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

boat,  but  her  loving  heart  went  with  it  as, 
spurning  the  wind  and  darkness,  it  made  for 
the  dunes  and  duty! 

"All  day!"  the  girl  thought;  "all  day,  and 
not  to  let  me  know!  Oh,  Cap'n  Daddy,  what 
mischief  have  you  been  up  to  ?"  The  quivering 
smile  rose  over  the  hurt,  but  anxiety  lay  deep 
in  the  troubled  heart. 

A  crash  of  thunder  rent  the  air!  A  blinding 
flash  of  lightning  turned  the  black  bay  to  a 
molten  sea.  Janet  could  see  it  through  the 
glass  of  the  outer  door  in  the  entry. 

"  Janet!" 

"Yes,  Susan  Jane." 

"Come  away  from  the  draught!  I  think  you 
might  know,  how  if  you  got  struck  by  lightnin' 
I  could  n't  do  a  blessed  thing  but  look  at  you." 
Janet  came  into  the  darkened  room. 

"Light  the  lamp!"  Susan  commanded.  "I 
ain't  goin'  t'  save  oil,  when  I'm  in  this  state. 
Oh!  Janet,"  —  a  splintering  crash  shook  the 
house,  —  "did  you  ever  hear  the  like  ?" 

"It's  pretty  bad,  Susan  Jane!"  But  the  girl 
was  thinking  of  the  little  boat  struggling  on  the 
bay,  the  strong  hand  upon  the  tiller,  and  the 
faithful  heart,  fearless  in  the  midst  of  danger. 

"  Janet,  since  you  ain't  got  no  nerves,  can  you 
read  t'  me  an'  sort  o'  drown  the  storm  ?     I  'm 

123 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

powerful  shaken.  I  can't  run  if  the  house  is 
struck;  I  can't  do  nothin'  but  jest  suffer."  The 
woman  was  crying  miserably. 

"I'll  read  to  you,  Susan  Jane;  and  the  storm's 
passing.     I  can  count  now." 

"  How  many  ?  How  many,  Janet  ? "  A  blind- 
ing flash  showed  around  the  green  curtain's 
edge  and  dimmed  the  light  of  the  kerosene 
lamp. 

"One  —  two."  The  awful  crash  stilled  the 
word. 

"T  ain't  fur  enough  off,  Janet,  to  trust  any! 
Oh!  God  help  me!  If  I  could  only  put  my 
hands  over  my  ears!"  But  the  poor,  helpless 
hands  lay  white  and  shrivelled  in  the  woman's 
lap. 

"Here,  Susan  Jane.  Shut  your  eyes  tight 
and  lean  your  head  upon  my  shoulder.  There! 
Now  when  I  see  the  flash  I  will  cover  your  ears. 
That  will  help." 

"Janet," — a  mildness  stole  into  the  peevish, 
whining  voice,  —  "Janet,  times  is,  when  I  see 
that  Billy  war  n't  all  wrong  in  his  bringin'  of 
you  up.  He's  sort  o'  left  the  softness  like  a 
baby  in  you."  The  hidden  eyes  did  not  see 
the  glare,  but  the  thin  form  quivered  as  the 
girl's  firm  hands  were  pressed  over  the  sensitive 
ears. 

124 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"It's  kinder  muffled-like,"  panted  the  woman, 
"In  between,  Janet,  can  you  say  any  of  it  ?" 

"Your  chapter,  Susan  ?" 

"Yes.  David  knows  the  most  of  it,  an* 
nights,  bad  nights,  he  says  it  when  he  ain't  so 
plumb  sleepy  he  can't." 

"I'll  say  what  I  can,  Susan  Jane."  The 
gray  head  nestled  close  to  the  strong  young 
shoulder.  The  nagging  woman  rested,  breath- 
ing deep.  The  fierce  storm  was  rolling  away; 
darkness  was  giving  place,  outside,  to  the  sun- 
set glow  which,  during  all  the  terror  and  gloom, 
had  lain  waiting. 

"'And  I  saw  a  new  heaven,  and  a  new  earth: 
for  the  first  heaven  and  the  first  earth  were 
passed  away  and  there  was  no  more  sea."' 
Janet's  voice  repeated  the  words  slowly,  tenderly. 
Their  beauty  held  her  fancy. 

"Davy  explains  that"  —  Susan's  muffled 
words  came  dully  —  "this  way.  He  says  the 
old  happy  time,  when  William  Henry  an'  me 
was  young  an'  lovin',  you  know  about  that?" 

"Yes,  Susan  Jane." 

"Well,  that  was  the  first  heaven  an'  earth 
fur  us,  an'  it's  passed  away!"  The  woman  was 
sobbing  as  a  frightened  child  sobs  when  fear 
and  danger  have  passed  and  relief  has  opened 
the  flood  gates. 

125 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"I  don't  know  how  William  Henry  is  goin* 
t9  bide  a  new  heaven  without  any  sea,  Janet; 
he  sot  a  lot  by  the  sea!  Always  a-goin'  out 
when  it  was  the  wildest  an*  trickiest!  He  use 
t'  say,  he'd  like  t'  go  to  glory  by  water,  an'  he 
did,  he  did !  I  was  n't  none  older  than  you  be, 
Janet,  when  he  went  down,  an'  the  cruel  waves 
kept  him,  kept  him  forever!" 

*' There,  there,  Susan  Jane,  you  know  they 
did  not  keep  the  part  you  loved.  That  part  is 
safe  where  there  is  no  more  sea!"  Solemnly 
the  girl  spoke  as  she  smoothed  the  throbbing 
head. 

"Yes!  Like  as  not  you're  right,  Janet.  An' 
he'll  find  other  comfort  in  that  heaven.  He 
was  the  patientest,  cheerfulest  body;  an'  never 
a  quick  word  fur  me,  Janet,  don't  you  ever 
tell,  but  I'm  afraid  t'  see  the  ocean!  I'm 
afraid,  because  I'm  always  a-thinkin'  his 
dead  white  face  might  come  up  t'  me  —  on 
a  wave!" 

"Poor  Susan  Jane!  It  will  never  come  to 
harm  you.  I  would  not  fear.  I  love  the  sea. 
If  it  had  been  my  William  Henry,  I  should  have 
watched  for  his  face  shining  in  the  beautiful 
curly  waves,  and  had  I  seen  it,  I  would  have 
stretched  out  my  arms  to  him,  and  we  would 
have  gone  away  —  to  glory  together!" 

126 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Not  if  the  face  was  a  —  dead  face,  Janet!" 
A  horror  rang  in  the  words. 

"Somehow,"  the  girl  replied,  "I  could  never 
think  it  dead,  if  it  came  that  way.  'And  God 
shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes;  and 
there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow 
nor  crying,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more 
pain:  for  the  former  things  are  passed  away/" 

"That's  it,  Janet,"  Susan  Jane's  voice  trailed 
sleepily;  "the  former  things  are  the  things 
what  has  the  tears,  an*  the  pains,  an*  the  hurts; 
an'  they  must  pass  away  before  there  can  be 
any  kind  of  a  heaven  that's  worth  while.  I 
wonder  — "  drearily,  "I  wonder  how  it  will 
seem  when  I  ain't  got  any  pains,  nor  any  tears, 
an'  when  there  ain't  any  more  black  nights  to 
think  about  them  in?  I'll  feel  terrible  lost 
just  at  first.  It  will  be  about  as  hard  fur  me 
t'  get  use  t'  doin'  without  them,  as  it  will  fur 
William  Henry  t'  do  without  the  sea.  I  guess 
we'll  all  have  considerable  t'  do  t'  learn  t'  get 
along  without  the  former  things,  whatever  they 
was.  Maybe  some  of  the  joy  will  be  in  learnin' 
all  over.  Janet,  I'm  powerful  sodden  with 
weariness.  Weariness  is  one  of  the  former 
things ! "  A  whimsical  humor  stirred  the  words. 
"Sometimes  the  former  things  get  t'  be  dread- 
ful foolish  day  after  day." 

127 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Let  me  cany  you  to  the  bedroom,  Susan. " 
Janet  had  assumed  this  duty  in  order  to  spare 
David,  the  nights  he  must  go  up  aloft.  The 
thin,  light  body  was  no  burden  to  the  sturdy 
girl. 

"There,  Susan,  and  see  the  storm  is  past!" 
The  evening  glow  was  shining  in  the  bedroom 
window.  "And  I  will  undress  you,  just  as 
easy  as  easy  can  be,  and  put  you  so,  upon  the 
cool  bed!  The  shower  has  cleared  the  air 
beautifully.  Now  are  you  comfortable,  Susan 
Jane?" 

"I'm  more  comfortable  than  what  I've  been 
fur  a  time  past.  Leave  the  shade  up  t'  the  top, 
Janet;  I  like  to  see  the  gleam  of  Davy's  Light 
when  it  is  dark.  I  like  t'  think  how  it  helps 
folks  find  their  way  to  the  harbors  where  they 
would  be.  Janet,  that  was  a  terrible  queer 
thing  you  said  about  the  face  in  the  wave." 

The  girl  was  folding  the  daily  garments  of 
the  tired  woman  and  placing  them  where  David's 
bungling  hands  could  find  them  for  another 
day's  service. 

"What  was  that,  Susan  Jane?"  She  stood 
in  the  fair  full  light  of  the  parting  day. 

"About  it  not  being  a  dead  face!  »  That's 
been  the  horror  of  it,  all  these  years;  it  has  always 
been  a  dead  an'  gone  face!     That's  why  I  hated 

128 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

the  sea.  But  ifM  —  and  a  radiance  spread  over 
the  thin,  wasted  features  — "  if  it  should  be, 
that  William  Henry  came  back  t'  me,  alive  an' 
smilin'  as  he  always  did,  why,  like  as  not,  I'd 
put  my  arms  out — "  then  she  paused  and  the 
voice  broke;  "no,  I  could  not  put  my  arms  out 
—  but  I  could  smile  like  I've  most  forgotten 
how  t'  do,  an'  I  could  go  with  William  Henry, 
anywhere,  same  as  any  other  lovin'  woman! 
I  never  thought  about  his  face  bein'  alive  in 
the  wave !  But,  do  you  know,  it 's  a  real  pleasant 
idee,  that  of  seem'  the  sea  again  an'  William 
Henry  a-smilin'  an'  wavin'  his  arms  like  he 
use  t'  when  he  was  bathinM  I  declare  it's  a  real 
grateful  thought.     Janet!" 

"Yes,  Susan." 

"I  wish  you'd  go  up  int'  the  Light  after 
you've  cleared  the  settin'  room,  an'  tell  Davy 
good  night!  I  forgot  t'  say  it  when  he  started  up. 
We'd  had  some  difference  'bout  money;  least, 
Davy  had,  I  never  have  any  different  idee  about 
it.  It's  him  as  changes.  Go  get  the  box, 
Janet,  an'  put  it  under  the  bed.  If  it  was  n't 
fur  me,  I  guess  Davy  would  know!" 

It  was  after  sunset,  when  Janet,  hearing 
Susan  Jane's  even  breathing,  felt  herself  free. 
She  stretched  her  arms  above  her  head  and  so 
eased    the   tension.     The   manner   of   bearing 

129 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

life's  burdens  by  the  people  of  the  dunes  was 
but  an  acquired  talent  with  her.  The  first 
and  natural  impulse  of  the  girl's  nature  was 
to  cry  out  against  care  and  trouble,  to  make 
a  noise,  and  act!  It  was  second  nature  only 
that  had  taught  her  to  assume  silently  and 
bear  secretly  whatever  of  unpleasantness  life 
presented. 

"Oh!  Cap'n  Daddy,"  she  had  once  cried  to 
Billy,  when  something  had  stirred  her  childish 
depths,  "why  don't  we  yell,  and  kick  and 
scare  it  off?" 

"  'T  ain't  sensible  with  them  as  lives  neajr 
the  sea,  Janet,"  Billy  had  calmly  returned. 
"The  sea  teaches  a  powerful  pinted  lesson  'long 
o'  them  lines,  Troubles  is  like  the  sea.  When 
they  is  the  worst,  they  do  all  the  shoutin'  an* 
roarin'  themselves,  an'  ye  jest  might  as  well 
pull  in  yer  sail  an'  lie  low.  When  they  is  past, 
an*  the  calm  sets  in,  't  is  plain  shallowness  t' 
use  yerself  up  then.  Folks  in  cities  don't  learn 
this  lesson;  they  ain't  got  no  such  teacher,  an' 
that's  why  they  wear  out  sooner,  an5  have  that 
onsettled  air.  They  think  noise  an'  bustle  o* 
their  makin'  can  do  away  with  troubles,  but 
it  can't,  Janet.  So  like  as  not,  the  soqner  ye 
learn,  the  better." 

Janet  thought  of  this  hard  lesson  now  zts 

130 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

she  stretched  her  strong  young  body,  and 
quelled  the  rebellious  cry  upon  her  lips. 

"I'll  go  up  and  bid  Davy  good  night,"  she 
whispered  half  aloud.  Then  lower:  "Good 
night,  my  Cap'n  Daddy!  You've  reached  the 
dunes  safely,  but  you'll  have  to  own  up  some 
day!"  She  waved  in  the  direction  of  the 
Stationa 

"How  dark  the  water  looks!"  she  suddenly 
cried;  "stars  in  plenty  —  where  is  Davy's 
Light?" 

White  and  fear-filled,  she  sprang  toward  the 
stairs  and  ran  lightly  upward.  Slower  she 
went,  after  the  third  landing;  anxiety,  added 
to  weariness,  stayed  the  eager  feet.  If  the 
Light  were  not  burning,  what  then  ?  Just 
below  the  lamp  and  gallery  was  a  tiny  room 
with  a  table,  chair,  small  stove,  and  little  glass 
lamp.  Here,  between  the  times  that  David 
inspected  his  Light,  he  sat  to  read  or  think. 
As  Janet  reached  the  place  the  darkness  was 
so  dense  she  could  see  nothing,  but  with  out- 
stretched hands  she  was  feeling  her  way  to 
the  door  leading  to  the  steps  into  the  Light, 
when  she  touched  David's  gray  head,  as  it  lay 
upon  his  arms  folded  upon  the  table!  He  was 
breathing  deeply  and  audibly,  and  the  girl's 
touch    did    not    arouse    him.    Whatever    the 

131 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

matter  was  with  David,  Janet's  first  thought 
was  of  his  sacred  and  neglected  duty.  She  ran 
on,  and  into  the  lamp.  She  struck  the  match 
and  set  the  blaze  to  the  wick;  then,  when  it 
was  well  lighted,  she  darted  outside  and  with- 
drew the  cloth.  The  belated  beams  shot  into 
the  night  as  if  they  had  gained  strength  and 
power  from  the  forced  delay. 

"God  keep  the  government  from  knowing!" 
breathed  the  girl;  "it  was  only  a  little  while, 
and  it  ought  not  to  count  after  all  the  faithful 
years." 

Weak  from  fear  and  hurry,  Janet  retraced 
her  steps  to  David.  He  was  still  sleeping  as 
peacefully  as  a  child.  Under  his  folded  arms 
was  an  open  book,  Janet  recognized  it  as  one 
that  Mr,  Devant  had  given  to  David  recently, 
a  little  book  of  poems  of  the  sea,  poems  with  a 
ring  and  rhythm  in  them  that  bore  the  golden 
thoughts  to  Davy's  song-touched  heart.  The 
man  had  fallen  asleep  like  a  happy  boy,  for- 
getting, for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  his  duty. 

Janet  lighted  the  little  lamp  upon  the  stand, 
and  drew  up  a  stool.  The  minutes  ticked  them- 
selves away  upon  Davy's  big,  white-faced  clock 
which  hung  against  the  wall.  Eight,  eight 
thirty,  eight  forty-five!  Then  David  sat  up 
and  stared  with  wide-opened  eyes  right  at  Janet. 

132 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

A  moment  of  bewilderment  shook  his  awakening 
senses;  then  he  gave  his  sigh  and  laugh. 

"By  gum!"  he  said,  "jest  fur  an  instint  I 
thought  I'd  forgot  my  Light !" 

"It's  all  right,  Davy,"  Janet  nodded  cheer- 
fully, 

"Course!"  Davy  returned  the  nod;  "course, 
ye  don't  s'pose  I'd  light  my  lamp  fust,  do  ye  ?" 

"Never,  Davy!" 

"It 's  bad  enough  t'  be  napping.  Like  as  not 
the  government  would  turn  me  out,  an'  with 
reason,  if  it  caught  on  t'  that.  I  don't  know  but 
I  ought  t'  confess.  But  Lord!  I  was  that 
worn,  'long  with  Susan  Jane's  bein'  more  ailin' 
than  usual,  an'  the  thickness  of  the  air  with  the 
shower,  that  arter  I  saw  everythin'  was  ship- 
shape, I  guess  I  flopped  some.  I'll  forgive 
myself  this  once;  but  if  it  happens  again,  Davy 
Thomas,  yer'll  write  t'  the  government  sure  as 
yer  born  an'  tell  'em  what  a  blubber-head  ye 
air!" 

Janet  laughed,  and  stretched  her  arms  out 
until  she  clasped  David's  rough  hands.  "I'll 
go  up  an'  take  a  look!"  said  the  man;  "stop  till 
I  come  down,  Janet,  I've  got  somethin'  t'  tell 
ye." 

"I  came  up  to  tell  you,"  the  girl  called  after 
him,  "that  Susan  Jane  sent  good  night  to  you." 

l33 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"She  did  that?"  Davy  paused  upon  the 
step  and  his  face  shone  in  the  dull  light.  Janet 
nodded.    Then  Davy  went  to  inspect  his  lamp. 

"But  to  us  He  gives  the  keepin 
Of  the  lights  along  the  shore!" 

Janet  smiled  as  the  cheerful  words  floated 
back  to  her.     Presently  David  returned. 

"Everythm'  is  as  it  should  be,"  he  chuckled; 
"  clear  night,  but  changin'  breeze,  an*  the  Light 
doin'  its  proper  duty!  Janet,  while  I  slept,  I 
had  the  durndest  dream,  I  can't  get  rid  of  it. 
I  read  once  how  the  surest  way  to  get  rid  of  an 
idee  was  t'  dump  it  on  another/' 

"Dump  away,  Davy."  i 

"It  made  me  feel  kinder  like  I  did  long  ago; 
an'  then  Susan  Jane  sendin'  that  good  night  up, 
sort  o'  fitted  in.  Janet,  I've  been  dreamin' 
about  William  Henry  Jones." 

Janet  nodded.  William  Henry  seemed  re- 
cently to  have  assumed  shape  and  form  to  her. 
He  had  been  but  a  name  in  the  past. 

"I  saw  him  a  comin'up  the  stairs  jest  as  plain 
as  day,  like  he  use  t'  come  when  he  came  off,  an' 
ran  up  t'  me,  if  I  happened  t'  be  haulin'  ile  up 
t'  the  balcony,  or  cleanin'  the  lamp,  or  what  not. 
His  face  was  shinin'  same  as  it  use  t\  By  gum! 
I  never  see  such  a  face  as  William  Henry  had ! 

134 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

it  always  seemed  to  be  lit  from  inside.  'I've 
come  fur  Susy,'  he  said.  He  was  the  only  one 
as  ever  called  her  that,  an'  I  ain't  heerd  it  since 
he  went  down  int'  the  sea  that  mornin'  he  was 
bluefishin'.  'I've  come  fur  Susy,  an'  I  want 
t'  thank  ye  fur  carin'  fur  her  like  what  ye  have.' 
Them  was  his  words,  as  true  as  gospil.  An' 
they  was  tumble  comfortin'.  Fur,  Janet,  I 
ain't  told  it  t'  another  soul,  not  even  t'  Billy, 
but  I  always  loved  Susan  Jane  —  fur  myself! 
When  William  Henry  won  her,  I  was  n't  ever 
goin'  t'  let  on,  but  when  he  got  drownded  an' 
Susan  had  t'  hustle  t'  keep  life  in  her  body,  I 
jest  out  an'  begged  t'  take  care  of  her  —  fur 
William  Henry!  I  told  that  lie,  Janet,  because 
I  dars  n't  tell  her  I  wanted  her  fur  myself.  I 
did  n't  never  care  whether  she  loved  me  or  not, 
after  1  knowed  she  loved  William  Henry, 
anyway;  but  when  he  went,  I  wanted  t'  take 
care  of  her  an'  keep  her  from  the  hardest  knocks, 
an'  I  wanted  it  fur  jest  myself!  After  a  while 
I  talked  her  int'  it.  She  war  n't  never  strong, 
an'  work  an'  grievin'  made  her  an  easy  mark  fur 
sufFerin'  an'  so  she  let  me  take  care  of  her!  But 
always  it  has  laid  heavy  on  my  mind  that  I 
had  n't  acted  jest  fair  t'  William  Henry  An' 
sometimes,  when  I've  been  settin'  out  on  the 
balcony,  freshenin'  up,  I've  planned  it  ail  out 

135 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

how  I'd  see  him  a  comin'  over  the  dunes  some 
day,  —  comin'  out  o'  the  sea  what  swallowed 
him,  with  an  awful  look  of  anger  on  his  smilin' 
face,  'cause  I'd  got  his  Susy  on  false  pretences, 
as  ye  might  say.  It's  got  kind  o'  wearin'  on 
me  o'  late,  but  Lord !  when  I  saw  William  Henry 
t'-night,  he  was  more  shinin'  an'  smilin'  than 
ever.  An'  when  he  thanked  me  like  what  he 
did,  I  nigh  busted  with  pleasure.  An'  then 
as  you  told  me  'bout  Susan  Jane's  good  night, 
I  jest  sent  up  a  prayer  out  there  on  the  balcony, 
a  prayer  of  gratefulness  fur  all  my  blessin's. 

"  Dreams  is  queer  stuff,  Janet.  'T  ain't  all  as 
should  be  counted;  but  then,  ye  don't  count  all 
the  folks  an'  happenin's  that  pass  ye  in  yer  wakin' 
hours.  But  when  a  dream,  or  a  person,  or  an 
idee  comes  along,  as  means  a  comfort  or  a 
strengthener,  I  take  it  that  it  is  a  sort  o'  duty  t' 
clutch  it,  an'  make  it  reaL  When  ye  ain't  got 
nothin'  better,  dreams  is  powerful  upliftin'  at 
times.]  Gum!"  David  drew  his  shoulders  up 
and  plunged  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  as  if  about 
to  draw  comfort  from  their  depths. 

"Gum!  Janet.  ?T  ain't  often  I  get  duty  and 
pleasure  mixed,  but  ye  stop  here,  an'  after  I 
take  another  look  at  the  lamp,  I'm  goin'  t' 
run  down  an'  say  good  night  t'  Susan  Jane. 
I  know  how  she's  lyin'  awake,  thinkin'  an' 

136 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

thinkin'  of  the  past.     Dreams  don't    seem   t* 
come  much  t'  Susan  Jane." 

David  paid  his  visit  to  the  Light,  then  de- 
scended the  stairs,  while  Janet  took  up  the 
book  of  poems  and  turned  the  pages  idly. 
David's  dream  and  all  that  had  happened 
seemed  to  still  her.  How  long  she  sat  by 
the  dim  lamplight  she  took  no  thought  to  find 
out.  The  words  of  poem  after  poem  passed 
under  her  eyes  unheedingly.  Once  she  went 
into  the  Light,  saw  that  all  was  well,  and  came 
back  to  the  book.  Presently  David  emerged 
from  the  stairway.  Janet  was  facing  him,  and 
the  expression  of  his  eyes  brought  her  to  her 
feet,  and  to  his  side. 

"Davy,  what  is  it?"  she  demanded. 

"He  has  come!" 

"Who?" 

"William  Henry!     He's  taken  her!" 

"No,  no!  Davy,  it  is  not  so,  she  is  only 
asleep."  David  shook  his  head  and  his  eyes 
had  a  dumb  agony  in  them. 

"'T  ain't  so,  Janet!  An'  she's  smilin'  like 
she  use  t\  I  ain't  seen  that  smile  on  her  face 
in  over  thirty  year.  That's  the  way  she  use  t' 
look  when  she  heard  me  comin'  in  the  gloamin', 
an'  thought  it  was  him!  No,  Janet,  she  wears 
—  William  Henry's  smile!" 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Janet  darted  past  him,  but  he  stayed  her. 
"  I  want  ye  should  sit  by  her  till  sun  up.  There 's 
a  brisk  storm  settin'  in  agin,  an'  't  ain't  fit  fur 
ye  t'  go  fur  any  one;  an'  I've  got  t'  mind  the 
Light.  Stay  'long  of  her,  Janet.  I'm  glad 
she  ain't  got  t'  suffer  any  more,  or  nothin'l" 
A  sob  choked  the  deep  voice  and  seemed  to 
follow  the  fleeing  girl  as  she  ran  down  the 
winding  stairs. 

Davy  had  placed  the  living-room  lamp  upon 
the  table  by  Susan  Jane's  bed.  By  its  glow, 
Janet  looked  upon  the  woman  under  the  gaudy 
patchwork  quilt.  Apparently  she  had  not 
moved  since  Janet  had  placed  her  there.  With- 
out a  struggle  or  pain  she  had  gone  forth, 

"Oh!  Susy,"  the  old  forgotten  name  slipped 
from  the  girl's  quivering  lips.  "Oh!  Susy,  I 
just  believe  you  saw  his  live,  shining  face  on  an 
incoming  wave!  And  when  the  wave  went 
-out,  it  took  you  both  to  glory!  But,  oh!  my 
poor,  dear,  lonely  Davy!"  Then  the  bright 
head  bowed  upon  the  coverlid.  "Susyy  oh, 
Susy!  I  am  so  glad  I  held  you  while  you  were 
frightened.  If  I  had  n't  I  should  never  have 
forgiven  myself.  It  was  all  I  could  do  for 
Davy,  and  William  Henry,  and  you!" 


138 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SUSAN  JANE'S  funeral  cast  all  other  events 
into  the  shade.  It  was  the  all-important 
topic  of  conversation  and  interest.  David 
alone  really  grieved  for  her;  the  others  had 
suffered  too  keenly  from  Susan's  tongue  and 
complaints  to  feel  any  honest  sorrow  in  her 
passing.  Her  giving  them  the  opportunity  for 
so  comfortable  and  gratifying  a  funeral  was, 
perhaps,  the  one  thing  she  could  have  done 
to  cause  them  to  respect  her  memory.  Janet 
saw  poor  departed  Susan  in  a  belated  halo  of 
romance,  and  Janet  was  in  the  mood  to  be 
deeply  touched.  She  no  longer  saw  Susan  old, 
helpless,  and  ugly,  full  of  small  meannesses  and 
sour  criticism:  she  saw  her  only  as  the  young 
girl,  little  older  than  herself,  for  whom  long  ago 
William  Henry  had  always  a  smile,  and  a  gentle 
nickname.  It  was  beautiful,  to  the  trouble- 
touched  girl  of  the  dunes,  to  think  that  the  old 
lover  came  back  for  his  sweetheart  and  paused, 
before  claiming  his  treasure,  to  thank  poor 
Davy  for  his  years  of  patient  love  and  service. 

139 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"And  he  understands,  I  know,"  Janet  mur- 
mured, placing  some  autumn  flowers  near 
Susan  Jane,  "he  is  glad  that  dear  Davy  could 
have  the  joy  that  seemed  to  us  all  a  burden. 
That's  the  way  it  is  when  the  'former  things 
have  passed  away,' "  —  the  girl's  tears  fell 
among  the  flowers,  —  "such  things  do  not 
matter  then;  but  here  they  do!  Oh,  they 
matter  most  of  all!" 

Mrs.  Jo  G.,  her  boarders  gone  and  her  body 
weary  from  the  summer's  strain,  gathered  her 
neglected  social  charms  together  for  Susan 
Jane's  funeral.  There  would  be  a  reunion  of 
all  Quinton  that  day.  There  would  be  a  repast 
worthy  the  minister's  donation.  Eliza  Jane 
Smith  had  offered  her  services  as  housekeeper 
pro  tern. 

"An'  a  mercy,  too!"  snapped  Mrs.  Jo  G., 
lapping  a  plaid  shirt  waist  over  her  scrawny 
chest.  "Janet's  'bout  as  useful  at  such  times 
as  a  flounder.  Lord  save  us!  how  I  have  fell 
away  this  season!  We've  cleared  two  hundred 
dollars,  an'  about  all  my  heft.     Maud  Grace!" 

"Yes,  Ma!"  Maud  Grace  appeared, 
bleached  out  and  thin,  her  eyes  red  from  weep- 
ing and  her  voice  shaky. 

"What  in  land's  name  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?"     Mrs.   Jo   G.   paused   to   gaze   at  the 

140 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

sodden  face  of  the  girl  she  had  sacrificed  much 
for  during  the  season. 

"Susan  Jane!"  faltered  Maud. 

"You  ain't  mournin'  fur  her,  are  you?" 

"No,  ma'am.  But  I  don't  want  t'  go  t'  her 
buryin'.  I  ain't  got  no  appetite  fur  corpses, 
they  always  make  me  faint." 

"Well,  you're  goin',  faint  or  no  faint!  So 
look  after  the  children,  an'  get  them  ready. 
Land  of  love!  I  should  think  the  sound  of 
the  stillness  up  at  the  Light,  after  Susan  Jane's 
clatter,  would  'bout  knock  David  out.  I  will 
say  fur  him,  that  he's  earned  his  reward.  Do 
stop  snivelling  Maud  Grace!  You  look  as  if 
you,  'stead  of  me,  had  frizzled  over  the  cook 
stove  all  summer!  It's  bad  enough  to  think 
you  did  n't  land  a  beau,  without  lookin'  as  if 
you  felt  it!  That  Janet's  goin's  on  has  n't 
served  her  neither,  but  she  ain't  goin'  t'  gloat 
over  you  while  you've  got  a  ma  what  can  steer 
you  straight.  You  get  int'  your  best  clothes 
and  perk  up  a  bit;  you  can  boss  it  over  Janet. 
Her  name  is  a  soundin'  cymbal  or  soon  will  be! 
She's  got  her  mother  in  her  strong.  It's  sort 
o'  wrung  out  of  me,  since  Janet's  acted  up  so, 
though  I  had  meant  t'  keep  my  own  knowledge." 

"I  don't  know  as  she's  done  anything  much, 
Ma;  jest  trapsed  on  the  Hills  some  an'  turned 

141 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

her  nose  up  at  boarders  mostly.  Mr.  Fitch 
said,"  —  a  weak  color  flushed  Maud's  face  for 
an  instant,  —  "  Mr.  Fitch  said  she  felt  herself 
high  an'  mighty.  But  that  ain't  no  crime." 
I  Mr.  Fitch's  name  was  one  with  which  to  conjure 
in  the  Gordon  household. 

"Like  as  not  he  was  runnin'  after  her!" 
Mrs.  Jo  G.  was  adjusting  her  memorial  pin,  a 
dreary  piece  of  jewelry,  composed  of  the  hair 
from  the  heads  of  several  dead  and  gone  rela- 
tives; "but  Janet  wasn't  after  his  kind.  She 
was  a  modil!"  The  woman  whispered  this 
information,  glancing  hurriedly  at  the  small 
children  whom  Maud  was  now  getting  into  their 
clothes. 

"What's  that?"  whispered  the  girl  in  return. 
The  hints  about  Janet  were  gathering  force  in 
order  to  break  after  the  excitement  of  the 
funeral  was  over.  But  Maud,  with  anxieties 
of  her  own,  had  heeded  them  but  slightly  until 
now. 

"It's  a  thing  no  Quintonite  ain't  goin'  t' 
i  stand  fur!"  quivered  Mrs.  Jo  G.  "'T  ain't 
proper.  I  guess  Cap'n  Billy  had  better  have 
kept  her  over  to  the  Station." 

"But  what  is  it?"  insisted  Maud,  her  voice 
almost  drowned  in  the  shriek  of  one  of  the 
twins,  whose  long  thin  hair  she  had  jerked  by 

142 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

way  of  emphasis.  Under  cover  of  the  scream, 
the  mother  replied: 

"  *T  ain't  fit  t'  talk  about  Tore  a  self-respectin' 
girl.  But  I  don't  want  you  should  have  any- 
thing t'  do  with  Janet  after  t'-day." 

"Spell  it!"  pleaded  Maud,  shaking  her 
younger  sister  into  a  sobful  semi-silence. 

"F-i-g-g-e-r!"  spelled  Mrs.  Jo  G.  in  an 
ominous  murmur.  Maud  Grace's  flat,  ex- 
pressionless face  took  on  a  really  imbecile 
blankness. 

"  Figger ! "  she  repeated  over  and  over.  "  Fig- 
ger!  That's  worse  t'  understand  than  modil. 
I  don't  see  why  you  can't  talk  plain  talk, 
Ma!" 

"  'Cause  I  told  you.  Whisper  or  shoutin', 
't  ain't  the  thing  fur  plain  talk;  but  I  wanted  t* 
give  you  a  weapon  in  case  Janet  takes  t'  crowin* 
over  you  —  an'  she  ain't  above  it.  She's  wuss 
off  than  you  be!"  With  this,  Mrs.  Jo  G. 
marshalled  her  host,  and  set  out  for  the  Light. 

It  was  late  in  the  day,  after  poor  Susan  Jane 
had  been  laid  away  in  the  little  graveyard  back 
of  the  white  church,  that  David  slowly  mounted 
the  lighthouse  stairs,  pausing  as  usual  upon 
every  landing.  There  was  no  song  upon  his 
lips  now.     For  the  first  time  in  thirty  years, 

H3 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Davy  felt  that  song  was  impossible.  All  smil- 
ing and  many-colored  the  landscape  spread 
before  him  at  every  opening,  but  the  man 
sighed  without  the  laugh. 

"The  higher  up  I  git,"  he  panted,  "it  seems 
I  feel  heavier  hearted.  I  ain't  got  nothin'  now, 
nor  ever  more  shall  have.  I've  had  my  turn, 
an'  when  I  reach  t'other  side  I  can't  expect 
poor  William  Henry  t'  share  her  with  me. 
Thirty  years  I  had  her,  an'  course  I  can't  com- 
plain. I  ought  t'  be  thankful  William  Henry 
did  n't  begrudge  me  them  years.  An'  I  am 
thankful!  Yes,  I  am  thankful,  an'  somehow 
I  believe  the  good  God  ain't  goin'  t'  let  my 
heaven  be  blighted.  In  some  way,  He's  goin' 
t'  set  it  straight  fur  us  three  over  there !  Maybe 
Susan  Jane '11  kind  o'  hanker  arter  the  care  I 
gave.  Maybe  she's  got  kinder  use  t'  it;  and 
maybe,  since  there  ain't  any  marriage,  or  givin' 
in  marriage,  maybe  she'll  have  love  enough 
fur  us  both!" 

This  conclusion  brought  a  joy  with  it  that 
radiated  the  honest  face*  I 

"That's  the  way  out!"  he  murmured,  stand- 
ing upon  the  little  balcony  and  facing  a  sunset 
so  gorgeous  that  the  world  seemed  full  of  glory. 
"It's  come  t'  me  as  plain  as  William  Henry 
come  three  nights  back.     It's  borne  in  upon 

144 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

me,  that  most  all  of  life's  riddles  get  answered, 
when  ye  get  up  high  enough  t'  leave  hamperin' 
things  below.  Downstairs  the  loss  of  Susan 
Jane  kills  everything  but  the  heartache ;  but 
up  here,"  Davy  walked  around  the  Light,  and 
looked  tenderly  at  the  land  and  sun-touched 
bay,  "up  here,  where  Susan  Jane  never  came, 
I  can  see  clearer,  bein'  accustomed  t'  havin'  it 
out  alone  with  God,  so  t'  speak,  fur  the  last 
ten  years!" 

And  now  the  sun  was  gone!  Its  gladsome 
farewell  to  Davy  in  the  Light  made  the  smile 
gather  on  the  wrinkled  face. 

"Your  turn  '11  come,"  he  said  smilingly  in 
the  old  words,  "your  turn  '11  come."  Then  he 
went  down  to  the  little  waiting  room,  lighted  his 
own  lamp,  and  took  the  book  of  poems  from 
the  table. 

He  was  ready  for  his  next  duty!  He  was 
soon  lost  to  all  but  the  swinging  thought  in  the 
ringing  lines.  Davy  was  himself  again!  Then, 
suddenly,  he  was  aware  of  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  So  tense  were  his  nerves  that  had  he 
looked  up  and  seen  either  William  Henry  or 
Susan  Jane,  he  would  not  have  been  surprised. 
But  it  was  Janet,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of 
brooding  love. 

"Davy,"  she  said,  "do  you  remember  how 

H5 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

I  used  to  play  'hungry  man'  with  you,  when  1 
was  a  little  girl?" 

"I  do  that,  Janet!"  The  cheerful,  old  face 
beamed.  "'Have  ye  had  any  supper?'  yer 
use  t'  ask,  'have  ye  had  any  supper,  Mr. 
Hungry  Man?'" 

"Let's  play  now!"  The  girl  laughed  gently. 
"Have  you  had  any  supper,  Mr.  Hungry  Man  ? 
Why,  I  can  see  you  just  as  plain  as  plain,  Davy! 
You  used  to  stand  inside  the  lamp  and  the  lenses 
made  you  long  and  thin  and  dreadfully  starved 
looking." 

"  But  once  I  got  outside  the  glass  I  plumped 
up  quick  enough!"  Davy  returned.  He  saw 
the  look  in  Janet's  eyes  that  called  for  bravery 
in  him.  She  was  pale  and  pitiful,  and  he 
turned  comforter  at  once. 

"It's  all  dependin'  upon  the  position  ye  take, 
how  ye  look  t'  others.  Once  ye  get  outside  of 
most  things,  ye  straightway  freshen  up  an'  get 
likelier  lookin'!" 

"You've  had  no  supper  to-night,  Mr.  Hungry 
Man!"     Janet  put  her  face  close  to  Davy's. 

"I  ain't  sufFerin'  fur  food,  Janet." 

"You  never  own  to  any  suffering,  Davy,  but 
look  here!"  She  ran  to  the  landing  and  brought 
in  a  large  tray,  neatly  spread  with  food.  "It 
isn't    leavings,"    she    explained,    placing    the 

146 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

dishes  before  him;  "Eliza  Jane's  cooking  is  for 
company,  mine  for  Davy  and  me!  I  made  the 
biscuits  myself.     Are  n't  they  flaky  ?" 

"They  are  that!"  nodded  Davy;  "flaky  don't 
do  them  justice;  they're  flakes.  An'  that 
coffee !     By  gum !  Janet,  that  smells  like  coffee ! " 

"Davy,  it  is  coffee!"  The  girl  was  glowing, 
and  her  eyes  shone  blue  in  the  lamplight.  "  I  'm 
going  to  eat  with  you,  Davy,"  —  she  drew  up 
a  stool,  —  "eat  and  talk."  Davy  fell  to  with  a 
suddenly  awakened  appetite,  but  Janet  watched 
him  above  her  clasped  hands.  Presently  she 
said : 

"Davy,  who  is  going  to  —  to — "  She  was 
about  to  say,  "keep  house  for  you,"  but,  recall- 
ing Susan  Jane's  helplessness,  she  said  instead, 
"who  is  going  to  keep  you  from  being  awfully 
lonely,  now?" 

"Why,  Janet," —  Davy's  full  mouth  hampered 
his  speech,  —  "I  reckon  I '11  have  t'  stay  lonely 
straight  on  t'  the  end.     I've  had  my  life." 

"Davy,  will  you  share  me  with  Cap'n  Billy  ?" 
iDavy  gulped  his  mouthful  and  tilted  his  chair 
back. 

"I'm  a  masterful  hand  at  sharin'  folks, 
Janet,  but  some  one  'sides  Billy  may  have 
something  t'  say  as  t*  this  bargain.  There's 
Mark,  now." 

147 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"No,  Davy,  there  is  no  one,  and  that's  the 
end  of  it!  I'm  a  —  well,  a  failure  in  getting 
anything  to  do  from  strangers,  and  so  I  thought 
if  you  would  let  me,  I'd  share  with  you  and 
Billy,  and  by  working  very  hard  I'd  make  my 
board  and  keep."     The  sweet  face  quivered. 

"Ain't  the  paintin'  business  paid,  Janet?" 
Davy,  during  sleep-filled  days  and  lonely  nights 
up  aloft,  had  caught  no  drifting  gossip  to  dis- 
turb him. 

"No,  it  hasn't  paid!"  The  girl  drooped 
forward  wearily. 

"  Billy  said  ye  was  helpin'  a  woman  painter." 

"The  women  have  all  gone  now,  Davy." 

"That's  the  wust  of  foreign  trade,"  com- 
forted David.     "Ye  can't  depend  on  it." 

"No,  but  I  mean  to  be  a  good  housekeeper, 
Davy.  I  am  going  to  make  you  and  my  Cap'n 
Billy  Daddy  just  cosy.  I  reckon  I'm  better 
fitted  for  home  trade." 

"Like  as  not,  Janet,  like  as  not.  Most 
women  are,  if  they  only  get  convinced  'fore  it's 
too  late.  Well,  I'll  be  powerful  thankful  t' 
have  ye  around.  'T  ain't  any  way  fur  a  man 
t'  live,  without  the  woman's  touch.  Some- 
times I've  fancied  that's  what  makes  women 
restless.  Men  don't  credit  them  with  'nough 
importance." 

148 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"You've  eaten  a  fine  supper,  Mr.  Hungry 
Man!"  —  Davy  had  eaten  it  all,  —  "and  now 
I'm  going  downstairs  to  make  things  homey. 
I  wish  the  sun  rose  earlier;  good  night,  Davy!" 
She  bent  and  kissed  his  seamed  and  rugged 
cheek. 

"Good  night,  Janet,  an'  God  bless  ye!" 

At  every  window  on  the  way  down  the  girl 
stopped  to  look  out  at  the  stars  that  were  thick 
in  the  early  autumn  gloaming.  She  was  aware 
of  a  lack  of  joy  in  life  —  one  has  to  know  sorrow 
and  trouble  to  recognize  and  classify  it  clearly. 
Knowledge  was  coming  slowly  to  Janet.  Hope 
had  buoyed  her  up,  the  hope  that  Thornly 
would  let  her  prove  that  she  was  stronger  and 
braver  than  that  silly  creature  he  had  once 
thought  her,  but,  as  time  dragged  on  and  no 
call  came  from  the  hut  upon  the  Hills,  hope 
died.  Then  she  had  seen  Thornly  drive  past 
her  one  day  with  that  white  girl  from  Bluff 
Head.  The  pale,  exquisite  face  had  suddenly 
grown  scarlet  at  the  sight  of  Janet  by  the  way- 
side, and  Thornly  had  stared  right  ahead, 
taking  no  heed!  Since  that  day  the  lack  of 
joy  had  grown  apace. 

She  had  gone  to  the  hut  upon  the  Hills 
and  hung  the  tiny  whistle  upon  the  door 
latch.     She  would  never  call  him  again!     She 

149 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

had  not  looked  for  the  key;  she  had  not 
thought  of  entering.  No  longer  had  she  a 
right  there. 

Billy  had  deferred  his  explanations  to  the 
girl  after  his  visit  to  the  hut;  the  sudden  death 
of  Susan  Jane  had  postponed  the  day. 

At  the  foot  of  the  lighthouse  stairs  Janet 
paused  and  held  her  breath.  Some  one  was 
moving  about  the  rooms!  Some  one  with  a 
candle,  for  the  flickering  shadows  rose  and 
fell  upon  the  inner  chamber  wall.  The  room 
in  which  Susan  Jane  had  died!  No  fear  of  a 
robber  stirred  Janet,  the  time  had  not  come 
when  Quinton  must  fear  that.  It  could  not  be 
Mark  Tapkins.  He  might  be  foolish  enough 
to  use  his  "off  night"  haunting  the  Light  —  his 
actions  were  curious  of  late  —  but  had  it  been 
Mark,  he  would  have  been  sitting  patiently  on 
the  outer  steps.  Janet  waited  a  minute  and 
then  went  noiselessly  into  the  sitting  room  and 
tiptoed  to  the  bedroom  door.  Then  she  started 
back,  nearly  dropping  the  tray  of  empty  dishes. 
The  intruder  was  Maud  Grace.  She  held  a 
lighted  candle,  and  she  was  hunting,  evidently, 
for  something,  for  she  looked  under  the  bed, 
in  each  drawer,  in  the  closet;  and  at  last  she 
got  down  upon  the  floor  and  thrust  her  hand 
beneath  the  bedclothes !     It  was  not  her  actions, 

l5° 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

alone,  that  startled  Janet,  but  the  dumb  look 
of  misery  upon  the  pale,  stupid  face. 

"Maud  Grace!" 

The  crouching  girl  gave  a  muffled  cry  and 
then  sat  upright,  clasping  her  hands  closely. 

"What  are  you  looking  for?"  It  seemed  an 
odd  way  to  put  the  question.  It  sounded  as 
if  Maud  were  in  her  own  room  and  had  only 
misplaced  some  article  of  clothing. 

"Her  money!"  The  words  were  clear  and 
hard.  "Susan  Jane's  box!  I  know  what  you 
think,  Janet,  you  think  I'm  a  thief!  But  I've 
got  —  to  —  have  money,  an'  I'll  pay  it  back!" 

"Come  out  in  the  sitting  room,  Maud.  I'll 
light  the  lamp  and  then  we  can  talk." 

The  calmness  of  tone  and  words  gave  the 
girl  upon  the  floor  courage  to  rise  and  go  into 
the  next  room.  There  she  sat  down  in  Susan's 
old  rocker  and  waited  until  Janet  made  a 
light.  Then  they  faced  each  other,  Janet 
taking  her  place  upon  the  horsehair  sofa, 

"You're  just  as  bad  as  me!"  cried  Maud 
suddenly.  The  steady  look  Janet  bent  upon 
her  angered  and  repelled  her.  "You  ought  t' 
understand  how  't  is." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  Janet  re- 
plied, "but  I'm  not  bad  enough  to  steal  a  dead 
woman's  money." 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Maud  turned  a  bluish  white  and  her  misery- 
rilled  eyes  fell. 

"I  had  t'  have  money.  I  dar  n't  ask  Pa  or 
Ma;  I  can't  tell  anybody,  but  I've  got  t'  have 
money  to  go  away.  I  could  have  sent  it  back, 
somehow,  once  I  got  away!" 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Janet's  voice  had 
the  ring  of  scorn  in  it,  though  she  tried  to  think 
kindly. 

"Ah!  you  need  n't  put  on  them  airs!"  Maud 
was  trying  to  keep  the  tears  back.  "You  ain't 
any  too  good  with  your  modillin',  an'  you  — 
you  —  a  figger!" 

This  did  not  have  the  desired  or  anticipated 
effect  upon  Janet.     She  looked  puzzled. 

"Somehow  you  sound  as  if  you  were  talking 
in  your  sleep,  Maud  Grace,"  she  said,  "you 
don't  seem  to  have  any  sense.  But  you've  got 
to  explain  about  the  money!" 

At  this  Maud  sprang  from  the  chair  and 
flung  herself  beside  Janet.  She  must  have 
help;  and  this  girl,  doubted  by  all  the  moral 
village  folks,  was  her  one  hope  in  a  desolate 
hour. 

"I've  got  t'  go  after  him!"  she  sobbed. 

"After  him?"  Janet  could  not  free  herself 
from  the  clinging  arms. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Fitch.     Ah!  Janet,  if  you  was  good 

*5* 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

like  all  the  rest,  you  could  n't  understand,  but 
all  day  I've  been  thinkin'  how  you  would  stand 
up  fur  me  if  you  knowed!  He  made  love  t' 
me,  Mr.  Fitch  did,  an'  now  he's  gone,  an'  he 
don't  write,  an'  I  know  he's  never  comin'  back. 
Somethin'  tells  me.  An'  oh!  Janet,  I've  got 
t'  have  him!  I  have,  I  have!  I  only  meant  t' 
take  the  money  till  I  got  to  him.  I  found  his 
card  in  his  bedroom  after  he  went.  He  did  n't 
tell  me  true  where  he  lived,  but  the  card's  all 
right.  An'  I've  got  t'  go!"  The  girl's  thin 
voice  was  hoarse  with  emotion.  She  clung 
closer,  and  her  breath  came  hard  and  quick. 

A  loathing  filled  Janet  as  she  listened,  a 
loathing  made  bitter  by  the  insinuation  of  her 
similarity  to  this  poor,  cringing  creature  beside 
her. 

"You  don't  want  him  if  he  does  n't  want  you, 
do  you  ?"  she  asked  slowly. 

"I  do  that!"  Maud's  tone  was  doggedly 
miserable. 

"  Even  if  he  is  trying  to  get  away  from  you  ?" 
The  memory  of  the  weak,  boyish  boarder  at 
Mrs.  Jo  G.'s  added  force  to  this  question. 

"Yes!" 

"Then,  shame  to  you,  Maud  Grace!  I 
would  n't  say  such  a  thing  as  that  if  I  were 
to  die!" 

153 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"  Maybe" — the  wretched  girl  groaned  — 
"maybe  you  ain't  just  like  me.  Somehow  I 
can't  think  you  are;  but,  Janet,  it's  worse  than 

,  dyin',  this  is.     I've  got  t'  go!" 

i  The  poor,  pleading  face  was  raised  to  Janet, 
but  its  dumb  agony  met  no  understanding 
emotion.  A  stir  outside  caused  both  girls  to 
tremble  with  fright. 

"I've  heard  every  word  you've  said!"  Mark 
Tapkins  stood  in  the  doorway  opening  upon 
the  porch.  "I  was  a  settin'  out  there,  sort 
a-watchin'  an'  thinkin'  o'  other  things  an'  not 
noticin'  what  was  passin',  till  all  of  a  suddint 
it  come  t'  me,  that  I  had  been  a  listenin'  an* 
takin'  in  what  wasn't  intended  fur  me.  I'm 
glad  I  did!"  His  slow  face  lifted  proudly. 
"I'm  glad  I  was  used,  so  t'  speak,  fur  this  end. 
Maud  Grace,  you  ain't  got  any  call  t'  bother 
Janet  no  more.  I  understand  you!"  His  eyes 
rested  upon  the  forlorn  girl  and  she  shrank  as 
before  fire.  "I  understand,  an'  this  is  man's 
work.  You  come  along  home,  an'  t'-morrer 
you  give  me  that  card  of  his'n,  an'  I'll  travel 
up  t'  town,  an'  fetch  him  back!" 

"Mark!"  Janet  was  on  her  feet,  her  eyes 
blazing,  "you  must  n't  help  her  in  this  foolish 
business.  You  have  no  right  to  interfere.  You 
have  no  right  here!     She  shall  not  make  her- 

154 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

self  so  ridiculous  as  to  send  for  a  man  who  is 
trying  to  get  away!" 

Mark  looked  at  her  gently,  patiently. 

"Sho!  Janet,"  he  soothed,  "you  leave  things 
you  don't  understand  t'  them  as  does.  I'm 
goin*  t'  fetch  that  feller  back.  I  know  his  kind, 
the  city  breeds  'em!  Maybe  the  bracin'  air 
down  here  will  help  him.  Come  along,  Maud 
Grace,  it's  nateral  enough  fur  me  t'  take  you 
home  frum  Janet's."  Janet  made  no  further 
effort  to  change  Mark's  intention;  and  he  and 
Maud  went  away  together. 

When  Janet  heard  them  close  the  garden 
gate,  she  went  into  the  bedroom,  took  the 
money  box,  that  poor  Maud  had  so  diligently 
sought,  from  the  top  shelf  of  the  closet,  and  put 
it  in  a  bureau  drawer;  then  she  turned  the  key 
in  the  drawer  for  the  first  time  in  all  the  years. 


155 


CHAPTER  IX 

*'TT  TELL,  it's  a  relief  to  me,  Dick,  to  know 

\\  that  you  do  know!"  Mr.  Devant 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  laughed 
lightly.  "Katharine  and  I  have  had  a  sneak- 
ing desire  to  ask  you  if  you'd  found  us  out,  but 
we  waited  for  you  to  make  the  first  move." 

"I'm  slow  to  move  in  any  game,"  Thornly 
replied.  "I  rather  think  it  comes  from  my 
chess  training.  When  a  child  begins  that  pas- 
time, as  you  might  say,  in  his  cradle,  with  such 
a  teacher  as  father,  it's  apt  to  influence  his 
character." 

"Exactly.  Have  a  cigar,  Dick;  it's  beastly 
lonely  to  puff  alone." 

"Thanks,  no.  I've  smoked  too  much  in  my 
hut  on  the  Hills.  Being  alone  always  drives 
me  to  a  cigar." 

The  two  men  sat  in  the  library  at  Bluff  Head. 
A  fire  of  driftwood  crackled  on  the  hearth  and 
a  stiff  wind  roared  around  the  house. 

"Of  course  we  had  no  right  to  enter  your 
studio,"  —  Mr.  Devant  spoke  slowly  between 

i56 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

the  puffs  of  smoke,  —  "except  the  right  that 
says  all  is  fair  in  love  and  war.  I  admit  that  I 
was  shaking  in  my  boots  that  day  for  fear  you 
might  come  in  upon  us.  Katharine  was  braver 
than  I.  You  must  own,  Dick,  that  you  had  n't 
treated  the  girl  quite  fair." 

"I  do  not  grant  that,  Mr.  Devant.  I  think 
Katharine  had  no  cause  for  complaint.  Good 
Lord!  a  doctor's  wife  might  quite  as  well 
feel  herself  aggrieved  because  her  husband's 
dissecting  room  is  closed  to  her. " 

"Come,  now,  Dick!"  Devant  threw  his  head 
back  and  laughed;  "it's  carrying  the  thing  too 
far  when  you  liken  the  Pimpernel  to  a  dis- 
agreeably defunct  subject." 

"It  all  goes  to  the  making  of  one's  art;  that  is 
what  I  mean.  It  belongs  to  the  art  and  need 
not  be  dragged  into  public  to  satisfy  a  woman's 
morbid  curiosity." 

"Or  a  man's?"  The  laugh  was  gone  from 
the  face  of  the  older  man. 

"Or  a  man's,  since  you  insist."  Thornly 
looked  into  the  depths  of  the  rich  glow  upon  the 
grate  and  took  small  heed  of  his  companion's 
changed  expression. 

"And  your  model  gave  us  away  ?" 

"I  beg  pardon?"  Thornly  drew  himself 
together;  "what  did  you  say?" 

157 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"I  said,  your  model,  the  Pimpernel,  told 
you  ?  It  must  have  given  the  little  thing  a  bad 
half  hour  to  be  found  out." 

"It  killed  her  childhood,"  the  young  man 
returned;  "it  died  hard,  and  it  was  n't  pleasant 
for  me  to  witness,  but,  thank  God,  the  woman 
in  her  saved  her  soul  from  utter  annihilation. 
Somehow,  I  have  always  wanted  you  and 
Katharine  to  know  this." 

"Thank  you.     You  have  told  Katharine?" 

"No,  I 'm  leaving  to-morrow.  I'm  going  to 
tell  Katharine  to-morrow  night.  I  waited  for 
her  to  speak  first  to  me;  I  hoped  she  would  to 
the  last.  All  might  have  been  different  if  she 
only  had." 

"Perhaps  Katharine  is  generous  enough  to 
forgive  you  unheard  ?"  ventured  Devant. 

"No  woman  has  a  right  to  forgive  a  man  in 
such  a  case,  if  she  suspects  what  Katharine 
did!"     The  keen  eyes  drew  together  darkly. 

"  How  do  you  know  what  Katharine  thought, 
Dick  ?"     The  older  man  was  growing  anxious. 

"A  woman  thinks  only  one  thing,  when  she 
strikes  that  kind  of  a  blow,  Mr.  Devant.  The 
effect  of  the  blow  upon  the  object  was  proof 
enough  of  its  character.  I  happened  to  be  in 
at  the  death,  you  know." 

"Dick,  you're  a  man  of  the  world;  this  sort 

158 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

of  sentiment  is  not  worthy  of  your  intelligence. 
Katharine  is  a  loving  girl  and  naturally  a  bit 
jealous  of  you  and  your  dissecting  room.  You 
must  realize  she  had  cause  for  surprise  that  day  ? 
Why,  the  little  devil  looked  like  a  siren  and  the 
bare  feet  in  the  net  were  breath-taking.  I 
think,  under  all  the  circumstances,  for  Katha- 
rine to  overlook  it  in  silence  proves  her  a  large- 
hearted  woman/' 

"Or  an  indifferent,  determined  one!" 

"Dick!" 

"  I  feel  rather  more  deeply,  Mr.  Devant,  than 
you  have,  perhaps,  imagined.  This  means 
much  to  me.  I  have  never  had  but  one  ideal  of 
womanhood  that  I  have  cared  to  bring  into  my 
inner  life.     My  mother  set  my  standard  high." 

"Your  mother  was  an  unusual  woman,  my 
boy." 

"The  unusual  is  what  I  have  always 
admired." 

"You  are  too  young  to  be  so  unelastic." 

"I'm  too  young  to  forego  my  ideal,  Mr. 
Devant." 

Presently  Saxton  entered  the  room  with  a  tray 
of  glasses  and  a  bottle.  After  he  was  gone, 
Mr.  Devant  took  up  the  subject  anxiously. 

"I  was  your  father's  friend,  Dick,  your 
mother's  too,  for  that  matter.     I  do  not  want 

J59 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

you  to  do  a  mad  thing  in  the  heat  of  resentment. 
Katharine  Ogden  is  a  rare  woman,  a  woman 
who  will  be  the  one  thing  needful  to  make  your 
success  in  life  secure.  Her  fortune  will  place 
you  above  the  necessity  of  struggling.  You 
can  paint  as  genius  moves  and  give  the  public 
only  your  best.  She  is  beautiful;  she  loves  you, 
is  proud  of  you,  and  knows  the  world,  the 
world  that  may  be  yours,  in  every  detail.  She 
is  your  ideal,  my  boy,  your  ideal,  lost  for  a 
moment  in  the  fog." 

Thornly  listened,  and  suddenly  Janet's  simile 
recurred  to  him:  "It  comes  to  me  just  as 
Davy's  Light  comes  of  an  early  morning  when 
the  fog  lifts  1"  The  memory  brought  a  tugging 
of  the  heartstrings. 

"You  have  scattered  the  fog,  Mr.  Devant," 
he  answered.  "I  own  I  was  in  rather  a  mist, 
but  you  bring  things  out  most  distinctly!" 

"And  you  will  not  go  to  Katharine  at  once  ? 
You  see  I  am  presuming  upon  old  friendship 
and  a  sincere  liking  for  you." 

"I  only  wish  there  were  a  night  train!" 
Thornly  gave  vent  to  a  long,  relieved  breath. 

"You  hold  to  your  purpose,  Dick?  I  feel 
that  but  for  me  this  might  not  have  occurred. 
I  should  have  restrained  the  child  that  day." 

"I  shall  tell  Katharine  all,  Mr.  Devant.     I 

1 60 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

am  sure  she  will  ask  me  to  release  her  from  a 
tie  that  can  be  only  galling  for  us  both." 

"You  will  be  playing  the  fool,  Dick,"  —  a 
note  of  anger  rang  in  the  deep  voice,  —  "a  fool, 
and  something  worse.  Gentlemen  do  not  play 
fast  and  loose  with  a  woman  like  Katharine 
Ogden!" 

"I  am  sorry  you  judge  me  so  harshly." 
Thornly  flushed.  "I  should  hardly  think  my- 
self worthy  the  name  of  man,  if  I  followed  any 
other  course.  To  marry  Katharine  with  this 
between  us  would  be  sheer  folly.  To  refer  to 
it  must  in  itself  bring  about  the  result  I  expect. 
I  have  no  desire  to  enter  Katharine's  world  and 
she  has  no  intention  of  adopting  mine.  She 
has  always  believed  I  would  use  my  success  as 
a  step  to  mount  to  her.  That  her  world  is  less 
than  mine  has  never  occurred  to  her." 

"But  if  the  girl  loves  you  ?" 

"She  does  not  love  me.  Had  she  loved  me, 
she  must  have  spoken  since  —  that  day." 

Mr.  Devant  arose  uneasily  and  walked  about 
the  room,  then  he  came  back  and  drew  his 
chair  close  to  Thornly's. 

"Will  you  take  a  glass  of  my  —  wine?"  he 
asked  huskily. 

Thornly  was  about  to  decline,  but  changed 
his  mind. 

161 


JANET  OF   THE   DUNES 

"Thanks,  I  will,"  he  said  instead.  And  the 
two  sipped  the  port  together. 

"Dick,  this  has  shaken  me  a  bit.  I  feel  that 
I  have  an  ignoble  share  in  the  whole  affair. 
I'm  getting  to  be  an  old  man;  I  can  claim  certain 
privileges  on  that  score,  and  if  life  means 
anything  past  forty,  it  means  sharing  its  ex- 
periences with  a  friend.  I'm  going  to  speak 
of  something  that  has  never  passed  my  lips  for 
nearly  twenty  years." 

"You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Devant."  Thornly set 
his  glass  down  and  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets. "I  appreciate  your  friendliness,  but  please 
do  not  give  yourself  pain.  If  life  means  anything 
under  forty,  it  means  getting  your  knocks  at 
first  hand."  He  tried  to  smile  pleasantly,  but 
his  face  fell  at  once  into  gloomy,  set  lines. 

"I'm  afraid,"  Mr.  Devant  went  on,  keeping 
his  eyes  upon  his  companion's  face  and  guiding 
himself  thereby,  "I'm  afraid  some  Quixotic  idea 
of  defending  this  little  pimpernel  of  ours  moves 
you  to  take  this  step.  Believe  me,  nothing  you 
can  do  in  that  direction  —  unless  indeed  you 
have  gone  too  far  already  —  can  avail,  if  you 
seek  the  girl's  happiness." 

A  deep  flush  rose  to  Thornly's  cheeks,  but 
the  proud  uplift  of  the  head  renewed  hope  in 
the  older  man's  heart. 

162 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"You  say,"  he  continued,  toying  with  his 
glass,  "that  to  drag  Katharine  from  her  world 
would  be  ruinous  to  her;  to  drag  this  child  of 
the  dunes  from  her  world  would  be  —  to 
put  it  none  too  harshly  —  hell!  I've  looked 
the  girl's  antecedents  up  since  that  day  on  the 
Hills.  I've  had  my  bad  moments,  I  can  assure 
you.  It's  like  trying  to  draw  water  out  of  an 
empty  well  to  get  anything  against  their  own 
from  these  people  down  here;  but  I  had  hopes 
of  the  girl's  mother.  I  pin  my  faith  to  ancestry, 
and  I  am  willing  to  build  on  a  very  small  founda- 
tion, providing  the  soil  is  good.  But  the  mother 
in  no  wise  accounts  for  the  daughter.  She  was 
a  simple,  uneducated  woman,  with  rather  an 
unpleasant  way  of  shunning  her  kind.  James 
B.  Smith,  my  gardener,  permitted  me  to  wring 
this  from  him.  He  does  n't  fancy  Captain 
Billy  Morgan,  thinks  him  rather  a  saphead. 
He  hinted  at  a  necessity  for  the  marriage  of 
this  same  Billy  and  the  girl's  mother.  It's 
about  the  one  sin  the  Quintonites  know  as  a 
sin.  They  come  as  near  going  back  upon  each 
other  for  that  transgression  as  they  ever  come 
to  anything  definite.  The  girl  is  the  offspring 
of  a  stupid  surf-man  and  a  nondescript  sort  of 
woman.  She  is  not  the  product  of  any  known 
better  stock;  she  is,  well,  a  freak  of  nature! 

163 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

You  cannot  transplant  that  kind  of  flower, 
Dick.  The  roots  are  hid  in  shallow  soil  of  a 
peculiar  kind.  If  you  planted  her  in,  well,  in 
even  your  artistic  world,  she  would  either  die,  / 
shrivel  up,  and  be  finished,  or  she  might  spread 
her  roots,  and  finish  you!  I've  seen  more  than 
one  such  case." 

Thornly  shook  himself,  as  if  doubtful  what 
he  should  reply  to  this  man  who,  above  all  else, 
in  his  own  fashion,  was  trying  to  prove  himself 
a  friend. 

"Thank  you  again,  Mr.  Devant,"  he  said  at 
last  haltingly;  "I  suppose  all  men  as  old  as 
you  are  sincere  when  they  try  to  help  us  younger 
chaps  by  knocking  us  senseless  in  an  hour  of 
danger.  But  it's  better  to  let  us  see  and  know 
the  danger;  we'll  recognize  it  the  next  time. 
All  I  can  say  is,  that  I  have  formed  no  plans 
for  after  to-morrow  night!  I've  got  to  get  out 
into  the  open  if  I  can.  I  rather  imagine  my 
art  must  satisfy  me  in  the  future." 

Devant  went  over  to  a  desk  between  two 
bookcases,  opened  it,  and  took  something  from 
a  private  drawer. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this  ?"  he  asked, 
handing  Thornly  an  old  photograph. 

"I  should  say,"  —  the  younger  man  looked 
keenly   at  the   picture,  —  "I   should   say  that 

164 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

it  was  an  almost  ideal  face  of  a  certain 
type." 

"Of  a  certain  type,  yes."  Devant  came 
closer  and  leaned  over  his  companion's  shoulder. 
"The  coloring,  of  course,  is  lacking.  I  never 
saw  such  glorious  hair  and  eyes.  The  eyes 
gave  promise  of  a  nobility  the  woman-nature 
utterly  lacked.  That  girl,  Dick,  has  wrecked 
my  life!" 

Thornly  handed  the  photograph  to  Devant. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  in  some  way  reading  a 
private  letter. 

"Your  life  does  not  seem  a  wrecked  life," 
he  said  confusedly.  In  a  vague  way  he  wished 
to  repress  a  confidence  that  he  felt,  once  told, 
might  wield  an  influence  over  his  own  acts,  and 
this  his  independence  resented.  "You  have 
always  appeared  a  thoroughly  contented,  suc- 
cessful man," 

Devant  laughed  bitterly;  then  he  idly  placed 
the  photograph  in  a  book  and  closed  the  covers 
upon  the  exquisite  face.  Thornly  hoped  that 
would  end  the  matter,  but  his  companion  was 
bent  upon  his  course.  He  stretched  his  feet 
toward  the  fire  and  looked  into  the  heart  of 
the  glow,  with  sad,  brooding  eyes. 

"Happy!"  he  ejaculated,  "happy!  It  is 
only  youth  that  estimates  happiness  by  super- 

i65 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

ficialities.  A  smile,  a  laugh,  a  full  pocketbookl 
You  think  they  mean  happiness?" 

"They  are  often  the  outward  expression." 

"Or  counterfeits.  Have  you  ever  read  'Peer 
Gynt,'  Dick?" 

"Yes.  Ibsen  has  a  gloomy  charm  for  me. 
I  read  all  he  writes  in  about  the  same  way  a 
child  reads  goblin  tales.     I  enjoy  the  shivers." 

"You  remember  the  woman  who  gave  Peer 
permission  to  marry  the  one  pure  love  of  his 
life  but  stipulated  that  she  should  forever  sit 
beside  them  ?" 

"Yes!"  Thornly  smiled  grimly.  "That  was 
a  devilishly  Ibsen-like  idea." 

"It  was  a  truer  touch  than  the  young  can 
understand.  Those  ghostly  women  of  an  early 
folly  often  sit  beside  a  man  and  the  later,  purer 
love  of  his  life.  Some  men  are  able  to  ignore 
the  gray  spectres  and  get  a  deal  of  comfort 
from  the  saner  reality  of  maturer  years;  I  never 
could.  That  girl"  —  he  touched  the  closed 
book  as  if  it  were  the  grave  that  concealed  her 
- — "  has  always  come  between  me  and  later 
desires  for  a  home  and  closer  ties.  Her  wonder- 
ful eyes,  that  looked  so  much  and  meant  so 
little,  have  held  me  by  a  power  that  death  and 
years  have  never  conquered." 

"She  died  then  ?"    Thornly  could  no  longer 

166 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

shield  himself  from  the  undesired  knowledge; 
he  must  hear  the  end. 

"Yes.  She  came  from  near  here,  poor  little 
soul!  I  can  never  get  rid  of  the  impression 
that  her  death  was  hurried,  not  only  by  trouble, 
but  sheer  homesickness.  You  cannot  fit  these 
slow,  quiet  natures  into  the  city's  whirlpool. 
I  was  a  young  fellow,  down  for  the  summer.  I 
was  ensnared  by  her  beauty,  and  had  n't  sense 
enough  to  see  the  danger.  She  followed  me 
to  the  city,  —  took  a  place  in  a  shop,  and  was 
about  as  wretched  as  a  sea  gull  in  a  desert. 
I  was  fool  enough  to  think  it  a  noble  act  to 
befriend  her  and  so  I  complicated  matters. 
My  father  must  have  found  out,  though  I  was 
never  sure  of  that.  Father  was  a  man  who 
kept  a  calm  exterior  under  any  emotion;  but 
he  sent  me  abroad,  and  I,  not  knowing  that 
he  had  discovered  anything,  dared  not  confess. 
I  meant  to  come  back  at  a  year's  end  and  set 
all  straight  in  some  way.  Good  God !  set  things 
straight!  How  we  poor  devils  go  through  the 
world  knocking  down  things  like  so  many  ten 
pins  and  solacing  ourselves  with  the  fancy  that 
when  we  finish  the  game  we'll  set  the  pins  in 
place  again!  We  never  get  that  chance,  Dick, 
take  my  word  for  it!  Whatever  the  plan  of 
life  is,  it  is  n't  for  us  to  set  up  the  game!    We 

167 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

may  play  fair,  if  it  is  in  us,  but  once  we  get 
through,  we  need  not  hope  for  any  going  back 
process.  When  I  returned  at  the  end  of  two 
years,  I  could  not  find  her!  It  was  n't  love  that 
set  me  upon  the  search  for  her,  Dick,  I  always 
knew  that;  but  I  think  it  was  the  one  decent  ele- 
ment that  has  ever  kept  me  from  going  to  the 
deepest  depths.  I  got  discouraged,  finally,  and 
took  our  old  family  lawyer  into  my  confidence." 

"Did  you  look  down  here?"  Thornly  asked 
slowly.  The  tale  had  clutched  him  in  a  night- 
marish way  that  shook  his  nerves. 

"They  don't  come  back  here,  my  boy,  once 
they  tread  the  path  of  that  poor  child.  They 
simplify  morality  in  Quinton  along  with  all 
else,  and  the  one  unpardonable  sin  suffices  for 
them.  They  grade  their  society  by  their  atti- 
tude toward  that.  But  old  Thorndyke  took 
this  place  into  consideration  as  a  beginning, 
for  he  aided  me  in  my  search  when  he  was 
convinced  of  my  determination." 

"And  you  never  found  her?"  Thornly  was 
leaning  forward  with  hands  close  clasped 
before  him,  his  face  showing  tense  in  the  red 
glow  of  the  fire. 

"Thorndyke  did." 

"Ah!" 

"Yes,  the  poor  little  thing  had  been  rescued 

168 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

after  a  fashion.  Soon  after  I  left  her,  a  fellow 
who  had  always  had  a  liking  for  her,  a  chap 
who  had  worked  in  the  shop  with  her,  was 
willing  to  marry  her  and  she  consented.  You 
would  n't  think  she  could,  quite,  with  those 
eyes,  but  she  did!  The  man  was  good  to  her; 
but  the  city,  and  other  things,  were  too  much, 
and  she  lived  only  a  short  time.  There  was  a 
child!  I  wanted  to  do  something  for  it;  I  had 
a  passion  of  remorse  then,  but  Thorndyke  told 
me  that  the  child's  best  interest  lay  in  my  letting 
her  alone.  She  was  respected  and  comfortable. 
For  me  to  interfere  would  be  to  throw  dishonor 
upon  the  dead  mother  and  a  cloud  upon  the 
child.  All  had  been  buried  and  forgotten  in 
the  mother's  grave.  About  all  I  could  do  to 
better  the  business  was  to  keep  my  hands  off; 
and  that  I  did!" 

Devant's  head  drooped  upon  his  chest,  and 
Thornly  felt  a  kind  of  pity  that  stirred  a  new 
liking  for  the  man. 

"You  think  the  lawyer  told  you  the  true 
facts  ?"  he  asked;  "true  in  every  particular  ?" 

Devant  started  up  and  turned  deep  eyes  upon 
the  questioner. 

"Great  heavens!  yes.  You  do  not  know 
Thorndyke.  He  was  about  as  cast  iron  an  old 
Puritan  as  ever  survived  the  times.     He  was 

169 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

devoted  to  our  family,  and  served  us  to  his 
life's  end  as  counsellor  and  friend;  but  not  for 
the  hope  of  heaven  would  he  have  lied!  No, 
that's  why  I  confided  in  Thorndyke,  I  could 
not  have  trusted  any  one  else.  I  knew  he  would 
never  respect  me  afterward;  he  never  did.  But 
he  served  me  as  no  one  else  could,  and  I  bore 
his  contempt  with  positive  gratitude." 

"  But  you  could  never  forget  ? "  Thornly  spoke 
almost  affectionately.   The  older  man  looked  up. 

"No.  And  as  I  grow  older  I  thank  God  I 
never  could.  We  ought  not  forget  such  things 
as  that.  We  ought  to  expiate  them  as  long  as 
we  live.  I  have  grown  to  take  a  kind  of  joy  in 
the  hurt  of  the  memory,  a  kind  of  savage  exalta- 
tion in  the  suffering.  So,  perhaps,  can  I  wipe 
out  the  wrong  in  this  life  and  get  strength  of  a 
better  sort  for  the  next  trial  on  beyond,  if  there 
is  another  trial!  I  suppose  every  man  wants  to 
show,  and  live  the  best  that  is  in  him;  not  many 
get  the  chance  here,  from  what  I  see.  I  reckon 
that  is  why  we  old  fellows  have  an  interest  in 
you  younger  ones.  It  goes  against  the  grain, 
if  we  have  a  sneaking  regard  for  you,  to  see  you 
quench  the  divine  spark  with  the  same  galling 
water  we've  gone  through.     Going,  Dick  ?" 

For  the  other  had  risen  and  was  holding  out 
his  hand  in  a  confused  but  eager  fashion. 

170 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Yes,  Mr.  Devant,  and  thank  you!  You're 
not  an  old  man,  I  sincerely  wish  that  you  might 
some  day,  well,  you  understand  —  not  forget 
exactly,  but  get  another  trial  here!" 

"Too  late  for  that,  Dick.  Can't  you  stay 
over  night  ?" 

"No.  I'm  going  to  the  Hills.  I've  some 
last  things  to  do  there." 

"And  to-morrow,  Dick?"         , 

"I'm  going  to  Katharine!"  The  two  men 
looked  keenly  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"I'll  meet  you  then  at  the  train,  my  boy,  at 
7.50.  I've  business  in  the  city.  I  always  put 
up'  at  the  Holcomb;  look  me  up  after  you've 
seen  Katharine." 

"Good  night,  Mr.  Devant,  and  again  thank 
you!" 

Devant  walked  with  Thornly  to  the  outer 
door,  and  then  to  the  wind-swept  piazza. 
"It's  sharp  to-night,"  he  said;  "I'll  soon  have 
to  give  up  Bluff  Head.  Davy's  Light  has  got 
it  all  its  own  way  to-night,  not  a  star  or  moon  to 
rival  its  beauty.  A  time  back  I  fancied  one 
evening  that  the  Light  failed  me,  It  was  only 
for  a  few  moments  I  imagined  it,  but  it  gave 
me  quite  a  jog.  I  suppose  it  was  the  state  of 
my  nerves;  one  can  rely  upon  Davy.  He's  a 
great  philosopher  in  his  way.     His  lamp  is  his 

171 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

duty;  his  lamp  and  that  poor  crippled  wife  of 
his  who  has  just  died.  Davy  is  one  of  the  few 
men  I've  met,  Dick,  who  seems  to  have  played 
the  game  fair  and  has  never  tried  to  comfort 
himself  with  the  hope  of  going  back.  'I'm 
ready  for  the  next  duty,'  he  said  to  me  the  other 
day  with  his  old  rugged  face  shining;  'there's 
always  another  duty  ready  at  hand,  when  you 
drop  one  as  finished.'" 

The  master  of  Bluff  Head  watched  the 
straight  young  figure  fade  into  the  night.  Then 
he  turned  again  to  Davy's  Light. 

"The  weight  of  a  dead  duty,"  he  muttered. 
"That's  what  anchors  a  man!  It  isn't  in  the 
order  of  things  to  trust  a  man  with  a  new  duty, 
when  he  failed  with  the  last.  There  is  n't  any 
light  to  guide  a  man  that's  anchored  by  a  dead 
duty." 

Then  Devant  went  back  into  his  lonely  house 
and  sat  down  before  the  dulling  fire  to  think 
it  out  about  Thornly. 

"He'll  never  go  to  any  one  but  me,  after  he's 
seen  Katharine,"  he  thought.  "He  may  not 
come  to  me.  It  all  depends  upon  how  deep  the 
thing  has  gone,  but,  in  case  he  needs  any  one, 
I'd  better  be  on  hand.  I  may  serve  as  a  buffer, 
and  that's  better  than  not  serving  at  all." 


172 


CHAPTER  X 

JANET  had  conquered  the  art  of  crocheting 
in  order  that  she  might  construct  a  Tam 
o'  Shanter  cap.  It  had  been  a  difficult 
task,  and  the  result  was  far  from  satisfying. 
Dropped  stitches  and  uneven  rows  were  in 
evidence  all  over  the  creation  of  dark  red,  with 
its  bushy  little  knot  on  top.  But  Janet  had  an 
eye  for  the  impressionistic  touch,  and  as  she 
glanced  in  the  mirror  of  Susan  Jane's  bureau, 
the  general  effect  was  gratifying.  Under  the 
dull  red  the  splendid,  dusky  gold  of  the  girl's 
hair  shone  exquisitely.  Janet  had  trained  the 
rebellious  locks  at  last  to  an  upward  tendency 
and  the  mass  was  knotted  loosely  beneath  the 
artistic  headgear.  The  eye  for  color  had  never 
been  lacking  in  this  girl  of  the  dunes.  Nature 
had  taught  her  true,  but  Thornly  had,  later, 
assisted  Nature;  and  no  French  modiste  could 
more  accurately  have  chosen  the  shade  of 
reddish  brown  to  suit  the  complexion  than  had 
Janet  selected,  from  the  village  store,  her 
coarse  flannel  for  blouse  and  skirt.    The  skirt 

173 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

was  long  now,  and  the  heavy  shoes  were  worn 
religiously  through  heat  and  cold.  There  was 
to  be  no  more  absolute  freedom  for  Janet  of 
the  Dunes. 

David  had  come  down  from  his  Light,  heavy 
eyed  and  weary.  Mark  Tapkins's  absence 
caused  extra  duty  for  David,  but  the  man  would, 
ask  for  no  other  helper;  it  would  seem  like  dis- 
loyalty to  Mark.  Janet  took  a  turn  now  and 
again  to  relieve  David,  and  that  helped  con- 
siderably. The  girl  had  borne  her  share  the 
previous  night,  but  her  face  showed  no  trace 
of  the  vigil. 

"Sprucin'  ?"  Davy  paused.  Tired  as  he  was, 
the  girl's  beauty  caught  and  held  him. 

"Some.  I've  set  your  breakfast  out  on  the 
table,  Davy,  and  the  coffee  is  on  the  stove.' ' 

"Yer  gettin'  t'  be  a  master  hand  at  cookin', 
Janet.  I  don't  b'lieve  Pa  Tapkins  can  beat 
yer  coffee.  Expectin'  Mark  back?"  There 
was  a  double  interest  in  this  question. 

"I  haven't  heard  a  word,  Davy/' 

"Coin'  visitin'?" 

"No,  Davy;  nobody  seems  to  want  me  to 
come  visiting.  The  summer's  doings  have  sort 
of  rent  Quinton  asunder,  and  in  some  way  I've 
managed  to  fall  in  the  crack.  I  don't  know 
what  I've  done,"  she  smiled  a  crooked  little 

*74 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

smile,  and  gave  the  artistic  Tarn  a  new  angle, 
"but  I'm  rather  frozen  out.  Mrs.  Jo  G.'s 
Amelia  made  a  'face'  at  me  yesterday.  I 
should  n't  have  noticed  it,  for  the  creature's 
hideous  anyway,  but  she  called  an  explanation 
after  me;  'I've  made  a  snoot  at  you!'  she 
screamed,  and  would  have  said  more,  but 
Maud  Grace  pulled  her  in.  No,  Davy,  I'm 
going  up  to  Bluff  Head." 

"It's  empty,"  Davy  said,  moving  between 
stove  and  table  clumsily. 

"  Eliza  Jane 's  there,  and  James  B.  I  wonder 
if  they  are  going  to  shut  the  house  for  the  win- 
ter?" asked  Janet. 

"Like  as  not,"  Davy  nodded,  and  spoke  from 
the  depths  of  his  coffee  cup. 

Janet  bethought  her  of  the  cellar  window 
and  the  old  unbroken  calm,  and  she  sighed 
yearningly. 

"Good  bye,  Davy."  She  came  behind  his 
chair,  and  snuggled  her  soft  cap  against  his 
cheek.  "I'm  going  up  to  have  a  good  reading 
spell;  then  after  dinner  let  us,  you  and  I,  if 
Mark  should  happen  back,  go  over  to  the 
Station  to  see  Cap'n  Billy.  Something's  the 
matter  with  my  Cap'n  Daddy.  He's  keeping 
off  land  like  an  ocean  steamer.  Davy,  he's  got 
a  cargo  aboard,  take  my  word  for  it,  that  he 

175 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

dees  n't  want  us  to  know  about.  Like  as  not 
he's  taken  to  pirate  ways  and  we've  got  to  get 
aboard,  Davy,  sure  and  certain." 

"By  gum!"  ejaculated  David,  "what  an  eye 
ye  've  got  fur  signals,  Janet !  I  've  been  doubtin' 
Billy's  actions  fur  some  time  an',  if  Mark  comes 
back,  I'll  jine  ye  goin'  over  t'  the  dunes. 
What's  Mark's  call  t'  the  city?"  he  asked 
suddenly. 

"You'll  have  to  ask  Mark."  The  girl  was 
halfway  down  the  garden  path  as  she  answered. 
"Probably  following  the  city  trade." 

"Not  much!"  muttered  Davy,  going  into  the 
sleeping  room;  "Mark's  got  his  stomick  full 
of  city  once  fur  all.     He  hates  it  worse 'n  pisen." 

Down  the  sunlit  path  went  the  girl  to  the 
oak  thicket  which  lay  between  the  Light  and 
the  road  that  stretched  from  the  village  to 
Bluff  Head.  Not  a  soul  was  in  sight,  and  the 
crisp  air  and  glorious  view  gave  a  new  kind  of 
joy  to  Janet  that  was  distinct  from  pleasure. 
She  felt  that  even  if  trouble  crushed  her,  she 
would  always  be  able  to  know  this  satisfaction 
of  the  senses.  She  paused  at  the  entrance  of 
the  woods  and  looked  back.  The  path  was 
strewn  with  a  carpet  of  leaves;  here  and  there 
a  tall  poplar  stood  majestically  above  its  stunted 
comrades  of  pines  and  scrub  oaks,  but  looked 

i76 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

gaunt  and  bare,  while  the  humbler  brothers 
bore  a  beauty  of  blood-red  leaves,  or  the  con- 
stant green.  Janet  smiled,  recalling  an  old 
belief  of  her  childhood.  She  had  asked  Pa 
Tapkins  once  why  the  oaks  were  so  very  little. 
Pa  Tapkins  had  his  explanation  ready.  It  had 
borne  part  in  his  boyhood  and  was  a  fully  con- 
firmed fact  in  later  life. 

"It  all  come  of  the  poplars  bein'  sich  liars, 
Janet.  Never  trust  no  poplar!  When  things 
was  only  sand  an*  beginning  in  these  parts, 
all  the  trees  sprung  up  together.  But  the 
poplars,  bein'  snoopier  than  common,  shot  up 
considerable  an'  took  a  look  around.  Lordy! 
what  did  they  see  but  the  ocean  a-roarin'  an' 
makin'  as  if  it  was  comin'  straight  over  the 
dunes!  An'  the  poplars  passed  the  word  down 
t'  the  little  oaks,  what  was  jest  gettin'  their 
bearin's.  It  scared  'em  so  it  gave  'em  a  set- 
back from  the  fust.  But  them  tall  liars  was  n't 
content  with  statin'  truths,  day  after  day,  when 
the  sea  lay  smilin'  like  a  babby;  they  handed 
down  a  bigger  whopper  than  what  they  did 
when  they  fust  saw  the  water.  'Nearer!  nearer! 
it's  comin','  that's  what  they  said,  mingled 
'long  with  powerful  yarns  as  to  how  the  monster 
looked !  Naterally  the  scared  oaks  did  n't  take 
no  interest  in  shootin'  up,  when  they  thought 

177 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

they  was  so  soon  t*  be  eaten,  so  they  got  the 
habit  of  crouchin'  low  an'  dependin'  on  the 
poplars  fur  information.  They  got  a  notion, 
too,  of  turnin'  away  from  the  sea.  Sort  o'  sot 
their  faces  agin  it,  so  t'  speak.  The  pines, 
every  onct  so  often,  shamed  'em  till  they 
blushed  deep  red,  —  that  comes  'long  'bout 
spring  an'  fall,  —  but  no  'mount  o'  shamin? 
ever  started  them  int'  springin'  up  an'  seein' 
fur  themselves  an'  givin'  the  poplars  the  lie! 
Don't  ye  place  no  dependence  on  a  poplar, 
Janet,  they  be  shivery,  whisperin'  critters! 
They  turn  pale  when  there  ain't  nothin'  the 
matter;  they  keep  their  shade  t'  themselves, 
jest  plain  miserly;  an'  they  pry  too  much. 
'T  ain't  proper;  't  is  'most  human-like." 

Janet  recalled  the  old  fancy  now,  leaning 
against  the  tall  poplar  which,  indeed,  was 
whispering  in  nervous  fashion  to  the  blushing 
scrub  oaks  clustering  close.  Some  one  was 
coming  up  the  road  from  the  station.  In  the 
far  distance  the  girl  heard  the  panting  shriek 
of  the  engine  of  the  morning  train  from  the 
city.  Could  that  shambling,  weary  figure  ap- 
proaching be  Mark?  Why,  he  looked  older 
than  Pa  Tapkins!  Janet  waited  until  he  was 
abreast  of  her.  His  hands  were  plunged  in 
his  pockets,  his  shabby  valise  slung  over  his 

i78 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

shoulder,  and  his  head  was  bowed  upon  his 
chest. 

"Mark!"  she  cried  cheerily,  "you  look  just 
worn  out." 

The  man  raised  his  dull  face  and  an  awaken- 
ing of  interest  and  hope  lit  it. 

"Morning  Janet,"  he  replied  and  came  to 
the  tree.  "Davy  managed  pretty  good?  I 
was  kept  longer  than  any  reason.  I  hope 
Davy  ain't  petered  out." 

"No.  I  helped  some.  Did  you  get  Maud 
Grace's  young  man,  Mark  ?"  The  amusement 
in  the  laughing  voice  made  Mark  shiver.  All 
the  pleasure  dropped  from  his  face  like  a  mask. 

"I  found  where  he  was,  all  right,  but  I  got 
there  a  day  too  late,  he  was  off  fur  —  fur  —  " 

"For  where?" 

"There  was  no  findin*  out.  He's  jest  clear 
gone  an'  vanished." 

"Well,  Pm  glad  of  it!  I  think  Maud  Grace 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself  to  want  him 
when  he  did  not  want  her.  Pm  out  and  out 
thankful  she  cannot  have  her  way." 

The  effect  of  this  speech  upon  Mark  was 
stupendous.  His  jaw  dropped  and  a  slow  fire 
seemed  to  gleam  in  his  pale  eyes.  Part  of  his 
nature  rose  in  gladness  because  the  girl  could 
speak  in  that  fashion.     She  had  no  knowledge 

179. 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

within  her  to  cause  her  to  falter  or  stand  abashed. 
But  the  tired  man,  in  the  poor  fellow,  cried  out 
to  this  strong,  brave  creature  to  aid  him  under- 
standing^ where  his  own  knowledge  and  slow- 
ness of  nature  made  him  a  coward.  And  so 
they  stood  looking  in  each  other's  eyes. 

"I  don't  see  why,  Mark,  you  should  try  to 
help  Maud.  She's  silly  and  has  acted  like  an 
idiot  with  every  man  boarder  her  mother  has 
had.  She's  turned  her  back  upon  you.  This, 
maybe,  will  teach  her  a  lesson." 

"Like  as  not  it  will!"  Mark's  words  came 
with  almost  a  groan.  "Like  as  not  it  will!" 
What  strength  was  in  him  conquered.  This 
girl,  so  detached  from  him,  must  keep  her 
childish  faith.  Whatever  was  to  be  borne  and 
suffered,  he,  in  his  bungling  fashion,  must 
bear  it  and  suffer  alone.  He  knew  the  Quin- 
tonites,  poor  fellow!  He  knew  there  was  work 
for  him  to  do,  but  he  would  do  it  alone! 

"Whar  you  goin',  Janet?"  Mark  took  up 
his  burden  of  duty  with  a  sigh.  He  was  awake 
to  life  and  its  meaning  at  last,  and  the  reality 
steadied  him. 

"On  an  errand." 

"Whar?" 

"That's  telling!"  The  girl  laughed  mock- 
ingly.     "And,  Mark,  as  soon  as  you  can,  go 

1 80 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

up  to  the  Light.  I  '11  soon  be  back,  Davy  and 
I  are  going  on  a  pirate  hunt  this  afternoon." 

"A  what  kind  of  a  hunt  ?" 

"Pirate.  It's  going  to  be  great  fun.  Davy 
needs  a  change." 

Mark  watched  the  brilliant  figure  vanish 
around  the  curve  of  the  road.  That  any  being 
on  earth  could  be  so  gladsome  puzzled  him 
vaguely. 

"Bluff  Head!"  he  muttered;  "well,  't  ain't 
as  bad  as  the  Hills,  but  it's  all  bad  an'  muddlin', 
an'  I  don't  feel  equal  t'  tacklin'  it.  The  dear 
Lord  knows  I  don't.  I  hate  t'  have  a  job  what 
I  know  from  the  start  I  'm  goin'  t'  botch,  but  the 
Lord's  got  t'  take  the  consequences  if  He  calls 
'pon  me.  'T  war  n't  any  of  my  doin's,  the 
Lord  knows  that!" 

BlufF  Head  was  closed,  whether  for  the 
season  or  not  Janet  did  not  care.  From  the 
region  of  the  barns  James  B.'s  voice  came, 
singing  a  hymn,  but  Eliza  Jane  had  either  gone 
for  the  day  or  for  altogether.  Janet  ran  around 
to  the  cellar  window,  keeping  the  house  between 
her  and  the  barns.  The  window  still  swayed 
inward  to  her  touch !  The  long  skirts  and  new 
womanhood  retarded  movement  somewhat,  but 
the  agile  body  had  not  forgotten  its  cunning. 
In  a  minute  or  two  Janet  stood  in  the  vacant 

181 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

library,  She  drew  in  long  breaths.  Eliza 
Jane  had  aired  the  room  well,  but  there  was  a 
hint  of  tobacco  smoke  still.  Upon  a  stand  was 
a  vase  of  golden  rod,  yellow  and  vivid  amid  the 
rich  coloring. 

"Some  people  leave  a  house  a  great  deal 
lonelier  than  others,"  whispered  the  girl;  "it 
will  never  be  quite  the  same." 

Devant's  presence,  his  vital  personality  seemed 
near  and  potent.  She  and  he  had  been  reading 
a  book  together  in  that  early  summer  time  before 
guests  had  appeared  to  disturb  the  quiet  happi- 
ness; she  would  go  back  to  the  book  and  begin 
alone  what  they  had  eagerly  pursued  in  com- 
pany. Janet  went  to  the  bookcase;  the  book 
was  gone  and  its  neighbors  were  leaning  over 
the  vacant  space  endeavoring  to  conceal  its 
absence.  Failing  to  find  the  volume,  the  girl 
went  to  the  table  and  took  up,  one  by  one,  the 
magazines  and  books  which  covered  it. 

"Ah!"  she  said  suddenly,  "I  have  you!" 
Under  a  pile,  near  Devant's  leather  chair,  was 
what  she  sought,  a  copy  of  Bacon's  Essays. 
Devant  had  taken  a  curious  interest  in  leading 
this  untutored  girl  into  all  manner  of  paths  and 
bypaths.  It  was  a  never-failing  delight  to 
him  to  watch  her  crude  but  keen  gripping  of 
the  best  from  each.     Alone  now,  and  with  a 

182 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

shadow  across  the  path  where  once  com- 
panionship and  pleasure  had  borne  part, 
she  took  the  Essays  to  the  deep  window, 
raised  the  sash,  and  nestled  down  to  what 
comfort  was  hers. 

As  was  ever  the  case,  the  subject  caught  her 
fancy  and  in  seeking  the  pearl  she  forgot  the 
effort.  Presently  she  was  aware  of  a  key  grat- 
ing in  the  lock  of  the  hall  door»  Eliza  Jane  was, 
perhaps,  returning;  or  more  likely  James  B. 
had  an  errand  inside.  Janet  raised  her  eyes. 
From  her  nook  she  could  see  distinctly  through 
the  hall.  The  outer  door  opened,  and  in  came 
Mr.  Devant.  He  had  apparently  walked  from 
the  station,  and  was  unexpected  by  the  care- 
takers. He  had  been,  without  doubt,  on  the 
train  with  Mark  but  had  taken  a  longer  path 
from  the  station,  or  had  dallied  by  the  way. 
For  a  moment  Janet  feared  he  might  be  followed 
by  the  girl  she  most  dreaded  or  Thornly,  — 
perhaps  both.  But  Devant  was  alone.  He 
closed  the  door  after  him,  hung  his  coat  and 
hat  upon  the  rack,  and  came  directly  to  the 
library.     His  keen  eyes  saw  Janet  at  once. 

"History  is  never  tired  of  repeating  itself!" 
he  cried  with  a  laugh.  Outwardly  he  was 
rarely  taken  off  his  guard,  "The  surest  way 
of  getting  you  here,"  he  went  on,  "is  evidently 

183 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

for  me  to  go  away.  Don't  you  like  me  any 
more?" 

He  lounged  against  the  heavy  table  and 
folded  his  arms.  He  was  looking  at  the  lovely 
face  beneath  the  vivid  cap.  The  first  impression 
of  the  girl's  beauty  was  always  puzzlingly  start- 
ling. Devant  had  noticed  that  sensation  before; 
after  a  moment  it  grew  less  confusing. 

"I  like  you/'  Janet  dropped  her  eyes,  re- 
calling the  day  upon  the  Hills.  Devant  had 
met  her  repeatedly  since  that  morning  and  had 
always  been  jovial  and  easy  in  his  manner,  but 
the  recollection  intruded  itself  at  every  meeting. 

"  Perhaps  you  like  me  at  a  distance,  but  object 
to  my  company  ?" 

"I  object  to  some  of  them!"  A  wan  smile 
flitted  across  the  uplifted  face. 

"Well,  I  am  alone  now;"  Devant  nodded 
cheerfully.  "Alone  and  likely  to  be.  I'm 
going  to  remain  all  winter,  perhaps,  Janet;  you 
must  teach  me  ice  boat  sailing  and  let  me  into 
all  the  other  debaucheries  of  the  place."  He 
came  near  the  window  and  looked  out  toward 
the  barns.     Then  he  called: 

"Mr.  Smith!"  James  B.  showed  his  rough, 
red  head  at  the  barn  door. 

"Yes!"  he  called  back. 

"I  ran  down  to-day,  instead  of  to-morrow. 

184 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

If  Mrs.  James  B.  can  come  up  this  afternoon 
and  get  me  a  dinner,  I'll  be  much  obliged." 

"I'm  sorry,"  —  James  B.  expectorated  mus- 
ingly,—  "but  she's  gone  t'  get  beach  plums." 

"All  right,"  Devant  returned  cheerfully,  "I'll 
starve    then.     Saxton    won't    be    down    until 


to-morrow." 
« 


That  so?"  James  B.  had  returned  to  his 
work  unconcernedly. 

"Why,  this  is  dreadful!"  Janet  could  but 
smile  at  Devant's  indifferent  face.  "  I  suppose 
you  could  n't  cook  for  yourself  even  if  you  were 
starving.  I  wonder  if  I  might  do  something  for 
you  now?" 

"  Take  no  trouble,"  —  Devant  waved  her 
back,  —  "I  took  precautions  before  I  left  town, 
and  Mrs.  James  B.  will  be  over  as  soon  as  she 
hears  I'm  home.  I'm  getting  initiated.  What 
are  you  reading,  Janet?" 

"The  Essays.  I  found  the  place  where  we 
left  off.    They're  rather  dry,  but  I  like  them." 

"When  you  do  not  like  a  really  good  thing," 
Devant  said,  going  to  his  easy-chair,  "read  it 
until  you  do.  Bring  the  book  here,  child!  I 
have  n't  read  aloud  since  you  and  I  were  alone 
before." 

Janet  arose,  and  as  she  did  so  something 
dropped  at  her  feet.     She  stooped  to  pick  it 

i8< 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

up,  looked  a  bit  surprised  and  confused,  and 
slipped  it  into  her  blouse. 

"What  was  that?"  Devant  asked. 

"My  —  "  Janet  paused ;  "it  was  my  moth- 
er's picture!  I  always  carry  it  in  my  waist 
now.     I  dropped  it." 

"May  I  see  it?" 

"  Cap'n  Daddy  said"  —  how  long  ago  it 
seemed  —  "that  I  had  better  not  show  it,  it 
seems  as  though  she  belonged  just  to  Cap'n 
Billy  and  me.  But  then  you  are  different.  I 
think  Cap'n  Billy  would  not  mind  if  you  saw 
her.  She  was  so  pretty!"  Janet  came  to  the 
table,  laid  the  book  upon  it,  and  then  drew  — 
two  photographs  from  her  blouse! 

"Why I"  she  exclaimed,  turning  pale  and 
stepping  back,  "why!  I'm — I'm — why,  some- 
thing has  happened.     Look  here!" 

She  extended  her  hands,  and  in  both  was  the 
likeness  of  the  dead  Past!  Identical  they  were! 
Both  well  preserved  and  arisen  to  face  this  man 
and  young  girl  at  God's  own  time!  How 
shrivelled  the  memory  of  the  grim  error  was! 
How  weird  and  pitiful  it  arose  against  the  youth 
and  beauty  of  the  vital  creature  who  with  out- 
stretched arms  challenged  him  to  explain  the 
black  mystery! 

"This  —  is  —  my  —  mother!    I   must   have 

186 


1  What  do  you  know  of  my  mother? '  M 

Page  187 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

dropped  one  picture  from  the  book.     What  do 
you  know  of  my  mother?" 

It  was  only  a  palpitating  question,  but  to 
Devant  it  bore  the  awful  condemnation  of 
outraged  girlhood. 

"My  God!"  he  gasped,  taking  the  photo- 
graphs from  her.  "My  God!"  There  could 
be  no  mistake.  Both  had  been  taken  from  the 
same  negative! 

Old  Thorndyke  had  lied  then!  This  girl, 
with  her  memory-haunting,  elusive  beauty,  was 
—  he  sank  back  and  stared  at  her.  No:  it 
could  not  be!  Whatever  the  meaning  was,  he 
dared  not  think  that  she  was  his  daughter!  If 
Thorndyke  had  lied  once,  he  probably  had 
many  times.  There  may  not  have  been  a 
child;  but  that  would  have  been  a  senseless 
invention  —  and  Thorndyke  was  not  the  man 
to  waste  his  energies.  Perhaps  the  first  child 
had  died.  Perhaps  there  had  never  been  a 
marriage  such  as  Thorndyke  had  said.  That 
might  easily  have  happened,  and  then  the 
mother  could  have  drifted  back  to  the  dunes 
with  her  pitiful  secret  hidden  forever.  Her 
marriage  with  Cap'n  Billy,  in  that  case,  might 
have  resulted  quite  naturally.  So  dense  was 
the  darkness  that  Devant  dared  not  move. 
He  was  afraid  he  might  bring  down  upon  this 

i87 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

innocent  girl  a  shame  that  in  nowise  concerned 
her. 

"How  came  you  to  have  a  picture  of  my 
mother?"  Janet's  eyes  were  gray-black.  An 
answer  she  would  have,  and  her  heart  de- 
manded truth.  She  saw  Devant's  panic  and 
it  filled  her  with  sensations  born  upon  the 
instant. 

"I  knew  her  when  she  was  a  girl.  A  girl  like 
that!"  He  nodded  toward  the  photographs 
as  they  lay  side  by  side  upon  the  table  where 
Janet  had  placed  them. 

"Where?"  The  relentless  voice  was  hard 
and  cold. 

"Here,  and  later  in  the  city!" 

"Did"  —  Janet  paused  and  bent  forward, 
her  tense  face  burning  and  eager  —  "  did  you 
love  her?"  Why  this  question  was  wrung 
from  her,  the  girl  could  not  have  told.  It  was 
in  her  heart  and  would  have  its  way, 

"Noo"  Devant's  voice  was  husky,  but  he 
would  save  the  future  from  the  clutch  of  the 
past,  if  it  were  in  his  power  to  do  so, 

"But  she  loved  you!"  For  the  life  of  him, 
the  man  could  not  face  his  accuser.  His  eyes 
dropped. 

"I  know!  I  know!  You  need  not  tell  me. 
That  is  the  reason  she  let  you  keep  her  picture!" 

188 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

She  swayed.  For  the  first  time  in  her  vigorous, 
young  life  Janet  felt  faint.  Devant  sprang 
toward  her. 

"Don't,  please!"  she  cried,  recovering  her- 
self almost  at  once  and  turning  toward  the 
door;  "I'm  going  to  my  Cap'n  Billy!" 

"Janet!"  He  tried  to  stay  her.  He  had 
much  to  say,  if  only  he  knew  how  to  say  it.  She 
might  be  going  to  —  what  ?  An  awful  danger 
seemed  to  yawn  at  her  innocent  feet,  but  his 
early  sin  forbade  his  interference. 

"I'm  going  to  my  Cap'n  Billy!"  There 
was  no  backward  glance.  Devant  heard  the 
outer  door  close;  then  he  sank  in  his  chair  and 
bowed  his  head  upon  the  two  photographs. 

"Where  your  mother  went  before  you!"  he 
groaned.     "Poor  little  flotsam  and  jetsam!" 


189 


T 


CHAPTER  XI 

HERE  goes  Janet  like  a  shot  from  a 
gun!" 

"  Whar  V*  Davy  and  Mark  were  haul- 
ing oil  up  to  the  lamp.  They  stood  upon  the 
little  balcony,  and  had  a  good  view  of  the  girl 
as  she  ran  like  a  wild  thing  over  the  stretch  of 
ground  between  the  lighthouse  and  the  wharf. 

"Ho!  Janet!"  shouted  Davy,  leaning  over 
the  railing.  "What's  got  ye?  Ain't  ye  goin' 
t'  wait  fur  dinner  —  an'  me  ?" 

Janet  paused,  and  the  face  she  turned  up  to 
the  balcony  moved  the  hearts  of  both  men  to 
alarm. 

"I  cannot  wait!"  she  called  back.  "I'm 
going  to  Cap'n  Daddy!"  Then  a  thought 
caused  her  to  add,  "Don't  either  of  you  come 
after  me!     I  want  nobody  but  my  Cap'n  Billy." 

"Now,  what's  knocked  her  endwise?" 
groaned  Davy,  staring  blankly  at  Mark. 

"Like  as  not  she's  been  gettin'  a  cargo  that 
she  don't  fancy,  up  to  Bluff  Head."  Mark's 
face  was  drawn  with  pity.     "I  come  down  on 

190 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

the  train  with  Mr.  Devant.  Maybe  he's  set  her 
straight  'bout  that  land-lubber-of-the-Hills!" 

Poor  Davy,  detached  by  his  duties  and  en- 
vironments from  the  common  gossip  of  his  kind, 
bent  a  puzzled  look  upon  his  companion. 

"Land-lubber-of-the-Hills?  What  in  the 
name  o'  Sin  be  ye  talkin'  of?" 

"Don't  you  know  what  they  say  'bout  her?" 
asked  Mark,  his  dull  eyes  fixed  on  the  sail  of  the 
Comrade,  as  it  put  off  from  the  dock. 

"No.  I  ain't  never  had  time,  above  my 
duties,  to  do  more'n  sleep  an'  eat,"  David 
replied.  "  But  I  've  got  time  now  t'  stand  up  fur 
that  girl  yonder,  if  any  consarned  gossip  takes 
t'  handlin'  her  name  lightly.  That  girl's  put 
in  my  care  by  Billy,  an'  Billy  an'  me  have  stood 
by  each  other  through  many  a  gale.  An'  now, 
Mark  Tapkins,  I'd  like  t'  hear  what  ye  've  got  t' 
say  out  plain  an'  unvarnished.  I  don't  want 
no  gibin\  I  only  got  one  way  o'  hearin'  an' 
talkin'."  Mark  drew  back  from  the  calm, 
lowering  face  of  the  keeper. 

"Nation!"  he  gasped,  "you  don't  think  I'm 
agin  her,  do  you,  Davy  ?" 

"I  ain't  carin'  whether  ye  be  or  no.  Like  as 
not,  if  she's  shook  ye,  yer  full  of  resentment. 
Them  is  young  folks'  ways.  But  fur  or  agin 
her,  i£ye  can  harbor  scandal  about  Billy's  Janet, 

l9I 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

ye've  got  t'  share  it  with  me  what  knows  how  t' 
strangle  it  fust  an  last.     Spit  it  out  now!" 

Mark  drew  himself  together  with  a  mighty 
effort.  Recent  events  were  wearing  upon  his 
vitality. 

"They  say,  Janet  is  mixed  up  'long  with  a 
feller  what  painted  her,  over  on  the  Hills!"  he 
spoke  as  guiltily  as  though  he  alone  were  re- 
sponsible for  the  report. 

"Who  says  so?"  Davy's  bushy  eyebrows 
almost  hid  his  kindly  eyes. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Jo  G.  fur  one!" 

"Ye  can't  knock  a  woman  down.  Ain't  there 
some  one  else  that  I  kin  begin  on  ?" 

"Well,  it's  kind  o'  common  talk.  Floatin' 
round  like  eelgrass  up  the  creek.  I  s'pose  it's 
sunk  int'  some  kind  of  bottom  of  fact,  as  t' 
who  started  the  rumor,  but  it's  jest  slippin' 
around  now,  on  top." 

"  'T  is,  hey  ?  Well,  't  ain't  the  fust  time  I  've 
clutched  eelgrass  an'  tore  it  from  its  muddy 
bottom.  That  gal,"  Davy  pointed  a  trembling 
finger  dune-ward,  where  the  Comrade  was 
bobbing  over  the  roughening  water,  —  "that 
gal  ain't  goin'  t'  be  soiled  by  any  slime  if  I 
know  it.  She  b'longs  t'  Billy  an'  me,  an'  by 
thunder!  we  can  sail  her  bark  fur  her  when 
her  little  hand  grows  tired  on  the  tiller!" 

192 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Mark  was  wiping  his  eyes.  Davy  had  made 
him  feel  himself  a  blackguard,  but  he  could 
not  see  just  where  he  had  erred.  Davy,  how- 
ever, took  small  heed  of  Mark. 

"I'm  goin'  down  t'  get  dinner!"  he  said 
suddenly,  "an*  I  ain't  goin'  t'  foller,  'cause  she's 
gom'  t'  Billy  an'  there  ain't  no  call  I  should 
inflict  myself  on  'em.  But  I'm  goin'  visitin' 
in  the  village  this  afternoon,"  —  he  nodded 
ominously,  —  "I'm  goin'  t  pay  up  some  o' 
my  funeral  calls.  I  hope  I  ain't  goin'  t'  cause 
any  more  funerals,  but  it  all  depends  on  how 
bad  the  disease  is!" 

Mark's  inclination  was  to  hold  Davy  back 
from  his  march  of  devastation,  but  he  felt  his 
impotence. 

"Onct  you  put  Davy  on  the  scent,"  he 
whimpered,  as  he  listened  to  the  keeper's  de- 
parting footsteps,  "you  might  as  well  give  up. 
Davy's  a  tumble  one  fur  runnin'  down  the 
game.  Nation!  I  hope  he  won't  fall  foul  o' 
Maud  Grace  an'  fling  her  at  her  mother!"  The 
cold  perspiration  rose  to  Mark's  forehead. 
"Nation!  I  wish  I  had  n't  mentioned  Mrs.  Jo 
G.  I  wish  t'  gracious  I  'd  laid  the  hull  blamed 
business  t'  Pa,  fur  Pa  kin  stand  it  bein'  so  soft- 
like." 

Janet  reached  the  dunes  in  good  time,  but 

193 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

the  distance  had  never  seemed  so  long  before. 
The  throbbing,  hurt  heart  outstripped  the  faith- 
ful little  Comrade  doing  its  best  before  the 
favoring  wind.  Every  tack  seemed  a  mile, 
and  a  fever  rose  in  the  blood  of  the  silent  girl 
at  the  tiller. 

She  had  time  to  think.  She  had  time  to 
grow  old  during  that  passage.  One  figure 
stood  out  alone  from  the  confused  tangle  — 
her  mother!  Around  that  form  much  centred! 
She  must  know  all  —  all,  about  her  mother. 

She  must  not  break  upon  Billy  with  her  start- 
ling news.  Billy  was  so  easily  driven  into  an 
impenetrable  silence!  She  must  draw  him  out 
by  old  familiar  methods  and  not  frighten  him 
into  caution.  By  the  time  the  Comrade  was 
fastened  to  the  Station  wharf,  the  girl  had  got 
herself  well  in  hand.  The  men  of  the  crew 
who  were  not  sleeping  were  engaged  indoors, 
a  lonely  stillness  brooded  over  all.  Janet  went 
up  to  the  government  house  and  looked  in  at 
the  open  door  facing  the  ocean. 

"Where's  Cap'n  Billy?"  she  asked.  The 
two  men,  preparing  food  at  the  table,  raised 
their  eyes  with  no  surprise,  and  Captain  Jared 
Brown  replied: 

"Isterin'."  Then  with  a  huge  clasp  knife 
he  opened  a  can  of  tomatoes,  raised  it  to  his 

194 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

lips  and  drained  the  contents.  Tomatoes 
were  Jared's  only  dissipation. 

"Has  he  been  gone  all  day?"  Janet  waited 
until  the  empty  can  was  set  down. 

"The  better  part  of  it."  The  man  wiped  his 
lips  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

u  Does  he  have  a  patrol  to-night  ? " 

"No!  no!"  Jared  began  to  show  an  interest. 

"I'm  going  to  surprise  him.  Don't  let  on, 
Jared,  if  you  see  him.     Who  is  in  the  lookout  ?" 

"John  Thomas." 

Janet  went  to  the  stairway. 

"John  Thomas!"  she  called  up,  "don't  let 
on  to  Cap'n  Billy  that  I  'm  here." 

"I  don't  report  no  derelicts!"  shouted  John 
from  aloft.  John  Thomas  was  an  unsmiling 
humorist  and  the  idol  of  the  undemonstrative 
crew.  He  had  seen  the  girl's  approach  and  was 
ready  with  his  answer. 

Then  Janet  went  across  the  sand  hill  to 
Billy's  little  house.  Inside  all  was  as  neat  and 
trim  as  a  ship's  cabin.  Billy  ate  with  the  men 
at  the  Station,  but  the  tiny  kitchen  was  ready 
for  Janet  whenever  she  came  as,  also,  was  the 
orderly  bedchamber  beyond  the  living  room. 
Billy  kept  to  his  lean-to,  when  away  from  the 
government  house  The  rooms  were  too  stifling 
for  the  girL     She  could  not  bear  the  loneliness 

195 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

that  only  empty  houses  have;  she  we^nt  out  and 
sat  upon  the  sand  dune  on  the  ocean  side.  It 
was  never  lonely  in  the  big  open  world!  Pres- 
ently small  things  caught  and  held  her  excited 
mind.  Far  out  a  sail  was  passing  beyond  the 
bar,  and  away  —  where  ?  Then  a  gull  swooped 
low  in  wide  free  circles,  and  passed  —  whither  ? 
Closer  at  hand,  the  stiff  grass,  stirred  by  the 
wind,  made  perfect  circles  upon  the  white  sand. 
Deeper  and  deeper  the  grass  cut  until  there 
were  little  ditches,  and  then  the  sand  fell  in, 
and  the  patient  grass,  guided  by  the  unseen 
power,  began  again.  Janet's  unrest  found 
peace  in  these  small  happenings.  This  was 
home.  Safety  and  Billy  would  soon  come  and 
gather  her  into  the  strong  stillness  of  love! 

"I  told  him  I  was  afraid  of  the  city  folks; 
and  he  laughed!"  she  whispered,  "but  they've 
caught,  or  they  have  nearly  caught,  Billy's 
poor  fish!"*  She  flung  her  head  up  with  an  air 
of  defiance.  Whatever  came,  she  must  meet 
it  as  Billy  had  taught  her  to  meet  the  storms  of 
childish  passion. 

Suddenly  she  became  aware  of  a  sound 
behind  her.  She  turned,  and  there  was  Billy! 
The  surpriser  was  taken  by  surprise. 

"My  Cap'n!"  Janet  rushed  to  him  and 
flung  her  arms  about  him. 

196 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Hold  there !"  he  cried,  "I'm  all  over  isters, 
Janet;  isters  an'  eelgrass  an'  water!" 

"Never  mind,  Cap'n  Daddy,  you  are  you! 
I  am  never  going  to  leave  you.  IVe  come 
home!"  In  her  raptures  she  had  shaken 
Billy's  hat  off,  and  now  stooped  to  pick  it  up. 
"I'm  going  to  be  an  oysterer  myself,  or 
some  other  man-thing  that  will  help.  But, 
Cap'n  Daddy,  I'm  going  to  tie  up  close  to  you!" 

Billy  was  in  nowise  deceived  by  this  loving 
outburst.  He  had  kept  guiltily  away  from  the 
girl  with  the  knowledge  he  knew  he  must  im- 
part to  her  some  day.  Mark  Tapkins  had 
informed  him  of  the  artist's  departure;  and  that, 
together  with  Susan  Jane's  death  and  funeral, 
had  given  Billy,  never  before  cowardly,  a  time 
of  grace.  But  he  knew  that  his  girl  had  come 
to  him  in  some  trouble.  Every  expression  of 
the  dear  face  was  known  to  him,  and  he  was 
ready  to  throw  out  the  line  of  help  as  soon  as 
the  signal  was  sure. 

"Janet,"  he  said,  "I'll  fetch  a  mess  of  some- 
thin'  from  the  Station  an'  we'll  take  it  together. 
You  lay  out  the  table  same  as  ye  use  t\  Ye 
might  happen  t'  like  t'  fry  up  some  isters.  I've 
had  oncommon  luck;  an'  ye  alius  sot  consider- 
able store  by  the  first  isters." 

"The  very  thought  of  them  makes  me  hun- 

197 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

gry!  Hurry,  Cap'n  Daddy;  I  want  you  right 
close!" 

Billy  was  not  gone  long,  and  when  he  re- 
turned the  two  made  ready  the  evening  meal. 
They  tried  to  be  gay,  but  between  the  attempts 
at  merriment  each  was  watching  the  other. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  the  Hills  and 
Davy's  Light  sprang  to  its  duty  on  the  Point. 
Billy  got  up  stiffly,  lighted  the  little  glass  lamp 
and  set  it  upon  the  table  amid  the  dishes  of 
food  from  which  neither  he  nor  Janet  had 
ravenously  eaten. 

"We  must  rid  up,"  said  Billy,  eyeing  the 
disorder;  "once  yer  done  with  food,  't  ain't  a 
pleasant  sight  hangin'  around."  When  this  was 
finished  Janet  drew  her  chair  close. 

"Cap'n  Daddy!"  No  longer  could  the  girl 
hold  herself  in  check.  "Cap'n  Daddy,  I've 
got  something  to  tell  you!" 

Billy's  heart  smote  him  as  he  looked  at  the 
pretty  head,  bowed  now  upon  the  folded  arms. 
He  put  out  his  rough  hand  and  smoothed  the 
ruddy  hair. 

"Steady,"  he  murmured,  " 't  ain't  no  use  t' 
lose  heart,  Janet.  I  done  wrong  not  t'  give 
ye  a  clearer  chart  t'  sail  by,  but  ye '11  get  int' 
smooth  waters  agin,  please  God!"  How  little 
he  realized  her  true  trouble! 

198 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Janet  tried  to  still  her  sobs,  but  they  eased  the 
strain  and  she  sobbed  on,  while  Billy  made  the 
most  of  the  time  to  take  up  his  neglected  task. 

"It  was  just  the  kind  of  shoal  yer  little  bark 
was  like  t'  steer  fur,"  he  went  on,  never  raising 
his  hand  from  her  dear  head,  "an*  I  oughter 
have  told  ye.  I  alius  have  thought  that  most 
of  us  would  keep  off  rocks  an'  shoals  if  we 
knowed  they  was  there.  Janet,  I've  got  t' 
tell  ye  somethin'  'bout  yer  mother!  It  oughter 
come  to  ye  from  a  woman,  God  knows,  but  there 
ain't  no  likely  woman  t'  hand,  an'  I  must  do 
my  best.  She,  yer  mother,  was  powerful  'fraid 
ye  might  wreck  yerself  on  the  same  kind  o' 
reef  what  she  struck.  She  wanted  ye  should 
be  a  boy  'long  o'  that  fear,  but  she  'lowed  if  ye 
were  a  girl,  I  was  t'  tell  ye  in  time  if  I  saw 
danger,  an',  Janet,  I  ain't  done  my  duty!" 
Billy's  voice  was  hoarse  from  intense  feeling. 

"Cap'n  Daddy!"  Janet's  voice  shook  with 
sobs.  "Don't  you  blame  yourself.  You're 
the  one  perfect  thing  I  have  in  my  life.  I  know 
it  now;  I  always  knew  it,  and  I  never  wanted 
to  leave  you." 

"Shuttin'  yer  eyes  from  danger  ain't  strength- 
givin',  Janet;  keep  a  watch  out,  an'  be  ready. 
That's  what  life  means."  His  voice  drew  the 
girl  from  the  shelter  of  her  arms,  she  looked 

199 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

steadily  at  him  through  wet  lashes.  "Janet, 
yer  mother  sunk  'long  o'  lovin*  a  man  —  a 
man  —  well,  like  him  —  on  the  Hills!" 

"What!"  The  girl  bent  forward  and  the 
fire  of  her  passion  dried  the  tears  from  the 
troubled  eyes.  She  would  hold  her  news  back. 
Billy  had  the  right  of  way. 

"Yes,  yes."  Billy  let  go  his  grip  of  the 
present.  He  forgot  the  girl  opposite,  and  her 
personal  claim  upon  him.  He  was  back  in 
his  own  youth,  and  in  arms  to  defend  the  one 
woman  of  his  love,  while  of  necessity  he  must 
use  her  against  herself. 

"  'T  ain't  no  harm  in  lovin',  if  love  on  both 
sides  means  right.  Mary  —  that  was  her  name 
—  Mary  was  cursed,  yes,  cursed,  with  a  hand- 
some face  an'  a  lovin'  little  heart  what  she 
did  n't  know  how  t'  steer  true.  That's  what 
she  always  stuck  t'  later,  that  eddication  would 
have  teached  her  t'  know  better.  She  was  the 
heartsomest  gal  that  ever  was  raised  in  these 
parts.  Her  an'  Susan  Jane  was  'bout  as 
friendly  as  any,  an'  I  will  say  fur  Susan  Jane, 
that  with  all  her  cantankerousness,  she  stood  by 
Mary.  David  an*  me  never  sot  our  fancy  on 
any  one  but  Susan  Jane  an*  Mary;  an'  Davy  an* 
me  war  n't  doomed  t'  happiness !  Least,  not 
in  our  own  way,  though  't  was  give  t'  us  both  t' 

200 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

help  when  everythin'  else  failed.  Mary,  she 
went  t'  the  city  an'  took  a  place  in  a  store. 
She  had  ambitions  t'  soar  an'  be  somethin' 
different.  Once  or  twice  she  came  home  all 
dressed  up  t'  kill,  an*  lookin'  like  jest  nothin' 
but  a  picter.  An*  once  I  went  t'  the  city  jest  t' 
see  her.  I  took  special  care  o'  my  get-up, 
knowing  how  much  Mary  sot  by  such  things. 
I  thought  I  was  all  right  till  I  reached  the  town; 
then  it  broke  on  me  like  a  clap  o'  thunder  that 
I  was  about  as  out  o'  place  there  as  a  whale  in 
a  fresh-water  lake.  Mary  was  real  upset  'bout 
my  comin'  onexpected  an'  lookin'  so  different 
to  city  folks,  an'  she  out  an' out  told  me  't  war  n't 
no  use,  she  was  bein'  courted  by  a  city  man  as 
was  rich,  an'  goin'  t'  make  a  real  lady  of  her." 

Poor  Billy's  weather-beaten  face  twitched 
under  the  lash  of  the  old  memory  which  had 
never  lost  its  power  over  him.  Janet  did  not 
take  her  eyes  from  him,  nor  did  she  break  the 
spell  by  a  word  of  hurry  or  question.  Presently 
Billy  went  on. 

"An'  then  —  she  came  back  here!  Davy, 
he  brought  her  across  the  bay  after  dark  one 
evenin'.  No  one  on  the  mainland  knew. 
When  I  went  on  the  midnight  patrol  she  met 
me  —  an'  told  me!" 

"  Told  you  what  ? "     No  longer  could  Janet 

201 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

hold  the  question  back.  She  knew  Billy's 
method  of  going  around  a  dangerous  spot,  and 
her  womanhood  and  daughterhood  demanded 
all 

"'Bout  him  in  the  city!"  The  past  misery 
shook  Billy's  voice.  "  He  —  he  did  n't  marry 
her!  He  went  away  an'  left  her!  The  poor 
little  wrecked  soul  came  back  here,  havin'  no 
other  harbor  in  all  God's  world,  an'  she  knew 
she  could  trust  me  an'  the  love  I  alius  had  fur 
her.  Her  faith  steered  her  true!  She  did  n't 
want  t'  let  me  take  the  course  I  laid  out;  she 
said  it  was  n't  fair  t'  me.  Lord!  not  fair  t'  me! 
She  never  would  tell  me  his  name.  She  wanted 
t'  forgit  everythin'.  It  made  her  shiver  t'  talk, 
even,  of  the  city.  She  did  n't  want  no  help  'long 
o'  him  who  had  deserted  her,  an'  I  never 
pestered  her  none.  Then  I  —  married  her. 
Davy,  he  backed  me  up,  an'  he  an'  Susan  Jane 
went  t'  Bay  End  an'  saw  us  married.  Susan 
Jane  kept  her  visitin'  over  at  the  Light  till  I  took 
her,  calm  an'  easy-like,  t'  the  parson,  an'  most 
folks  never  guessed  the  real  truth.  An'  then 
we  come  over  here  fur  a  little  while,  such  a  little 
while!  I  never  seen  a  more  grateful  critter  than 
she  was.  She  never  seemed  t'  take  int'  'count 
the  joy  't  was  fur  me  to  serve  her  an'  chirp  her 
up.     I  fixed  the  little  place  fur  her,  an'  I  took 

202 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

my  traps  t'  the  lean-to  so  as  t'  give  her  plenty  o' 
room,  an'  by  an'  by,  like  it  sometimes  happens 
after  a  stormy,  lowerin'  day,  the  sun  bu'st 
through,  an'  toward  the  close  the  glory  seemed 
right  startlin'.  I  can  see  her  face  a  shinin'  now 
every  time  I  shet  my  eyes.  An'  she  grew  that 
wise  an'  far-seem*  that  it  made  me  oneasy. 
Twarn't  nateral,'  an'  she  such  a  soft  little 
thin'!"  Billy  passed  his  rough  hand  over  his 
dry,  hot  lips.  "Then  you  come,  an'  she  slipped 
her  moorin's." 

The  two  were  staring  dumbly,  sufferingly, 
at  each  other.  Billy  saw  the  agony  he  had 
awakened  and  his  heart  sank  within  him. 
After  a  moment  of  silent  doubt,  Janet  arose  and 
stood  in  front  of  Billy,  laying  her  cold  hands 
upon  his  shoulders.  There  was  no  need  for 
her  news  now! 

"My  Cap'n,"  she  whispered,  with  a  fervor 
Billy  had  never  heard  in  her  voice  before  ;  "my 
Cap'n,  I  am  a  woman,  a  woman  like  my  mother. 
Tell  me,  as  true  as  heaven,  am  I  your  Janet  and 
hers?"  Billy's  deep  eyes  pleaded  for  mercy, 
but  the  woman  before  him  would  not  relent. 
There  was  a  heartrending  pause,  then: 

"No,  ye  ain't!  God  help  us,  ye  ain't!  But 
He's  let  me  love  ye  like  ye  was  —  an'  that's 
been  my  reward." 

203 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Janet  shut  her  eyes  for  a  moment  and  clung 
to  Billy.  In  that  space  of  time  it  was  given  to 
her  to  see  a  way  to  redeem  the  past.  When  she 
opened  her  eyes,  the  misery  was  gone.  She 
was  smiling,  and  there  was  no  mist  between  her 
and  Billy.  She  went  beside  him  and  drew  his 
shaggy  head  upon  her  strong  breast  as  a  mother 
might  have  done;  then  she  bent  and  kissed 
him. 

"Dear,  dear  Cap'n  Daddy!  I  see  it  all. 
My  mother  was  wondrous  wise  when  she  took 
you  for  her  pilot.  Oh !  my  Daddy  —  for  you 
are  my  father.  In  all  the  world  there  never 
was  such  a  father!  We'll  cling  close,  Daddy, 
won't  we,  dear  ?  Nobody  shall  ever  come 
between  us,  promise  that,  oh,  promise  it!" 

"As  God  hears,  never!"  Poor  Billy  broke 
under  the  load  of  love  and  gratitude,  and  bowed 
his  head  upon  the  table.  But  the  girl,  her  face 
glowing  with  a  strange  radiance,  did  not  loosen 
her  hold;  she  bent  with  him. 

Had  Billy  been  more  worldly-wise,  he  might 
have  suspected  that  this  vehemence  had  root  in 
something  beside  filial  love,  but  Billy  was  never 
one  to  question  a  gift  from  God.  Whenever 
his  simple  soul,  chastened  by  suffering  and 
earnest  endeavor,  took  courage,  he  always 
thanked  heaven  and  returned  to  his  common 

204 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

tasksc  When  he  looked  up  now,  the  old  calm 
had  settled  upon  his  face. 

"An*  so,  Janet,"  he  said,  "ye  can  tell  me 
free  an*  easy  'bout  that  painter-chap  over  t' 
the  Hills !"  The  girl  started.  "I  know  all 
'bout  him,"  soothed  Billy,  "an'  I  don't  hold  it 
agin  ye  that  ye  let  me  think  it  was  a  woman 
painter.  Them  is  young  folks'  ways,  an'  ye 
did  n't  lie,  Janet,  ye  jest  did  n't  tell  straight  out. 
But  Mark  an'  me,  we  had  our  eyes  'pon  ye, 
an'  was  lookin'  out  fur  yer  interest."  Billy 
paused  for  breath.  "In  yer  future  dealin* 
with  the  painter-man,  Janet,  jest  do  'cordin'  to 
yer  new  light.  I  ain't  goin'  t'  worry  or  fret. 
Ye  alius  was  one  t'  act  clear  headed  if  ye  had 
hold  o'  facts." 

Janet  dropped  upon  Billy's  knee  and  hid 
her  face  against  his.  From  such  a  shelter  she 
could  speak  more  freely;  but  oh!  how  different 
the  confession  was  from  what  it  once  might 
have  been! 

"It  was  the  first  time  I  ever  deceived  you, 
Cap'n  Daddy.  I  hated  myself  for  it.  But, 
Daddy,  he  never  cared  for  me  —  in  that  way, 
dear!  He  cares  only  for  his  beautiful  pictures. 
He  used  me  to  help  him  with  them,  it  was  I 
who  did  not  know  the  difference,  just  at  first. 
Even  after  I  knew,  I  wanted  to  have  a  share,  but, 

205 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Daddy,  dear,  women  cannot  help  in  that  way, 
more's  the  pity  —  or  mercy!  I  see  it  all  very, 
very  clearly  now;  but,  dear,"  —  here  a  kind  of 
fierceness  shook  the  low  voice,  — "  he  is  not 
like  —  the  one  who  broke  my  mother's  heart! 
You  and  I  must  remember  that.  When  I 
wanted  to  help  him,  no  matter  what  any  one 
thought,  he  would  not  let  me!  He  saved  me 
from  myself.  I  understand  it  now,  and  I 
shall  bless  him  while  I  live.  I  —  I  flung  myself 
at  him,  Daddy,  but  he  went  away  because  he 
was  too  noble  to  hurt  me!" 

"He  did  that?"  Billy  held  the  girl  close  and 
smiled  radiantly. 

"Yes,  yes;  he  did  that!" 

Billy  recalled  his  and  Mark's  visit  to  the  hut, 
and  a  feeling  of  shame  stilled  all  further  con- 
fession. He,  as  well  as  Janet,  was  beginning 
to  understand. 

"It  seems  like  the  clouds  has  lifted,  Janet,  an* 
I'm  thinkin'  there'll  never  be  no  more'twixt  us." 

"Never!  dear,  dear  Daddy!"  the  girl  hugged 
him  to  her. 

"I  ain't  been  so  happy  an'  care  free  fur 
years,  Janet.  It  seems  like  we've  cleared  the 
decks,  not  fur  action  so  much  as  smooth  sailin' !" 

"That's  it,  Daddy,  smooth  sailing.     Just  you 

and  I  to  the  very  end!" 

• 

206 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Come,  Janet,  we  must  gat  t'  bed.  We'll 
sleep  on  all  this  new  happiness.  Yer  room's 
ready;  'twas  her  room  fust.  She  said  over  an' 
agin  that  it  was  a  safe  harbor.  An'  so  'tis, 
Janet,  so  't  is,  an*  alius  shall  be  fur  whatever 
was  hers!  Good  night,  child,  an'  God  bless 
ye!  If  yer  only  fair-minded  ye  can  see  that 
ye  don't  get  any  more  storms  on  yer  voyage  than 
is  good  fur  ye." 

That  night  Janet  lay  wide-eyed  and  sleepless 
upon  her  mother's  bed.  Her  fancy  wandered 
far  and  her  young  blood  coursed  hotly  through 
her  veins;  but  always  she  came  trustfully  back 
to  the  thought  of  Billy's  patient  love  and  cour- 
age; and  it  gave  her  heart  to  face  the  future, 
whatever  it  might  be. 


207 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  master  of  Bluff  Head  had  the  discon- 
certing impression  borne  in  upon  him 
that  the  getting  ready  for  winter  at  Quin- 
ton  had  a  moral  and  spiritual  significance,  as 
well  as  a  physical  one.  He  felt  a  cold  exclusion 
round  about  him,  as  if  the  good  people  did  not 
quite  know  what  to  do  with  him.  He  belonged 
to  the  summer.  For  him  and  others  of  his 
world  they  had  braced  for  action  and  thawed 
out  to  the  extent  of  making  him  feel  he  was  not 
intruding,  while  occupying  his  own  house.  But 
they  resented  his  prolonged  stay  and  necessary 
infringement  upon  their  well-earned  liberty. 
Not  that  Devant  imposed  his  presence  upon 
them  —  he  rigidly  observed  a  decent  dignity  — 
and  he  was  more  than  willing  to  pay  a  high 
price  for  any  service  he  required;  but  James 
B.,  while  accepting  large  wages,  fretted  under 
the  necessity  of  holding  to  a  sure  thing,  while 
a  vague  possibility  lay  outside. 

James  B.  had  learned,  in  his  secret  way,  that 
Captain  Billy  had  been  told,  when  he  went  for 

208 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

the  physical  examination  at  Bay  End  in  Sep- 
tember, that  his  heart  was  n't  up  to  the  require- 
ment. A  lesser  man  would  have  been  dropped 
from  government  duty  with  such  a  handicap  as 
that,  but  the  physician,  knowing  Billy  and  his 
steady  life  and  good  record,  passed  him  for 
another  year. 

James  B.,  like  a  vulture,  had  been  hoping  for 
a  place  on  the  crew  for  many  a  day.  The  hope 
gave  an  excuse  for  idleness.  Eliza  Jane  knew 
Billy's  symptoms  and  was  willing  to  counte- 
nance James  B.'s  indifference  to  other  business 
propositions  of  a  steady  nature,  while  that 
possibility  of  the  crew  was  apparent.  How- 
ever, there  was  no  reason  why  James  B.  should 
not  turn  a  penny  in  a  temporary  way  at  Bluff 
Head,  while  waiting;  and  that  Eliza  Jane  in- 
sisted upon. 

"But,"  sighed  James  B.  as  Mr.  Devant 
stayed  on,  "if  he  would  only  go,  then  like  as 
not  Eliza  Jane  would  let  up  on  me  'bout  laborin' 
while  I'm  waitin'." 

This  state  of  affairs  became  known  to  Janet 
through  the  tactless  remarks  of  Mark  Tapkins, 
She  went  at  once  to  Billy  to  find  out  exactly 
what  the  doctor  had  said.  Billy,  from  the 
highest  moral  position,  prevaricated  nobly,  and 
left  the  girl  with  the  impression  that  the  con- 

209 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

dition  of  the  suspected  heart  was  really  very 
desirable, 

"It's  this  way,"  he  explained,  "all  hearts  is 
tricky,  an'  once  ye  know  the  tricks,  why,  there 
ain't  no  danger.  It's  like  knowin*  the  weak 
p'ints  of  a  vessel,  ye  ain't  goin'  t*  strain  the 
weak  p'ints,  once  ye  know  'em,  an'  like  as  not 
the  vessel '11  last  twice  as  long  as  a  seemin' 
sound  boat.  Don't  ye  fret,  Janet,  James  B. 
can  loaf  a  considerable  spell,  if  it's  my  goin' 
he's  dependin'  'pon.  An'  no  one  more'n 
James  B.  will  be  thankfuller  fur  my  hangin' 
on." 

Davy's  funeral  calls  had  had  a  beneficial 
effect  upon  the  community.  More  than  one 
woman  said  afterward  that  it  looked  as  if  Susan 
Jane's  mantle  had  fallen  upon  Davy's  shoulders. 

"He  said  t'  me!"  —  and  Mrs,  Jo  G.'s  cat- 
like eyes  glittered,  — "  he  said  as  how  t*  his 
mind  a  gossiper  was  like  a  jellyfish,  sort  o' 
slimy  an'  transparent,  an'  when  you  went  t' 
clutch  it,  it  stung!  I  asked  him  right  out  flat 
footed  what  he  meant,  an'  he  told  me  t'  think 
it  over!" 

More  than  Mrs.  Jo  G.  thought  Davy's  words 
over,  and,  as  a  result,  turned  their  attention  to 
getting  ready  for  the  winter. 

The  oyster  boats  dotted  the  bay.     The  wood 

210 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

was  piled  near  the  kitchen  doors,  and  the 
Methodist  minister,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  came 
down  from  the  mental  pinnacle  upon  which  he 
had  endeavored  during  the  summer  to  attract 
strangers,  and  preached  sermons  from  his  heart 
to  the  hearts  of  the  Quintonites.  A  donation 
party  was  in  the  air,  too,  and  the  needy  pastor 
grew  eloquent  along  generous,  ethical  lines. 

Eliza  Jane,  in  a  detached  and  injured  manner, 
continued  to  cook  up  at  Bluff  Head.  The 
master,  feeling  that  at  least  he  paid  for  the 
necessity,  ate  in  peace;  but  Saxton,  who  fell 
between  the  aristocracy  of  Devant's  ideas  and 
the  Quintonite  ideal,  suffered  cruelly  from  his 
plebeian  position.  Only  a  vague  hope  of  city 
life  and  pleasures  held  him  to  his  position 
And  Devant  was  undecided  as  to  what  he 
should  do.  Thornly  had  not  "looked  him  up" 
after  seeing  Katharine.  Indeed,  that  rigid 
young  man  had  sailed,  within  the  week,  for 
Point  Comfort,  and  Devant,  fearing  to  meet 
Katharine  alone,  had  hurried  back  to  Bluff 
Head,  there  to  be  confronted  by  his  Past  in  a 
most  crushing  manner.  So  unlooked  for  and 
appalling  was  the  resurrected  ghost,  that  it 
had  stunned  him  and  left  him  unable  to  act. 
He  feared  to  make  a  false  move  and  waited  for 
Janet  to  point  out  the  way.     But  the  girl  re- 

211 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

mained  upon  the  dunes  with  Billy,  and  the  bay 
seemed  an  impassable  barrier  between  them 
and  Bluff  Head. 

To  go  to  Billy  and  demand  the  sequel  to  the 
pitiful  story  of  Mary  Andrews's  life  was  out  of 
the  question.  Mr.  Thorndyke  was  long  since 
dead,  and  had  left  no  papers  nor  books  to  help 
any  of  his  clients  in  their  affairs.  While  he 
lived,  he  had  served  them  faithfully,  according 
to  his  light;  but  he  felt  that  in  dying  he  can- 
celled all  obligations.  Suppose  Mary  Andrews 
had  gone  to  Captain  Billy  with  her  secret  buried 
from  sight,  who  was  he  that  he  should  deal  the 
faithful  man  at  the  Station  a  blow  that  might 
end  his  life  —  surely,  his  trust  and  peace  ? 
But  Janet!  There  was  the  awful  doubt. 
Thorndyke  had  said  there  was  a  child,  had  he 
spoken  true  ?  If  there  were  a  child,  was  it  that 
beautiful  girl  of  the  Station  ?  Devant's  blood 
ran  hotly,  as  he  thought  upon  his  belief  in 
heredity.  Might  it  not  be  himself,  instead  of 
the  poor  mother,  who  was  accountable  for  the 
Pimpernel  ? 

"Good  God!"  he  muttered;  "what  would  I 
not  do  for  her  ?  Train  that  keen  mind,  so  apt 
and  greedy!  Fit  her  for  a  high  place  and,  in 
small  measure,  redeem  the  brutal  past!  Give 
her  perhaps  —  to  Thornly  1" 

212 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

This  thought  stayed  him.  It  might  be  by  that 
power  he  would  prevail — if  only  he  were  sure! 

He  was  standing  before  the  mirror,  tying 
his  cravat,  as  these  thoughts  ran  through  his 
tortured  mind.  Suddenly  his  hands  dropped 
at  his  sides  and  he  strained  his  eyes  at  the 
reflection  that  met  him.  First  it  was  the  color 
of  the  eyes  that  held  and  amazed  him;  then  an 
expression  at  once  familiar  and  baffling.  Was 
his  own  face,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  be- 
coming known  to  him  ?  Or  was  the  face  of 
that  girl  of  the  dunes  crowding  all  other  faces 
from  his  vision  ?  Once,  when  first  Janet's 
beauty  had  stirred  him,  he  had  noticed  her 
perfect  ears  set  close  to  her  head.  The  ears 
were  shell  shaped  and  pink.  The  left  ear, 
near  the  lobe,  had  a  curious  inward  curve, 
unlike  the  right  —  a  fascinating  defect  that 
added  to,  rather  than  detracted  from,  the 
beauty.  It  was  like  a  challenge  to  attract 
attention.  Devant  now  observed  his  own  left 
ear.  There,  in  coarser  fashion,  was  the  same 
mark!  Through  familiarity  it  had,  before, 
passed  unnoticed,  now  it  forced  itself  upon  his 
consciousness  like  a  witness  for  the  truth! 
Slight  as  these  things  were,  they  turned  the 
strong  man  weak.  He  dropped  into  a  chair 
and  rang  for  Saxton. 

213 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

" Bring  me  some  coffee,"  he  said;  "make  it 
yourself,  and  make  it  strong." 

"Yes,  sir.  And  if  it  ain't  presuming,  I  would 
like  to  say  that  there  is  more  than  the  coffee 
what  is  weak,  sir.  The  cookin'  here  ain't  what 
you're  used  to,  sir.  The  club  table,  or  that  at 
the  hotel,  is  more  nourishing."  Saxton  had  put 
in  his  suggestion,  and  went  his  way  comforted. 

The  coffee  braced  the  shaken  nerves,  and 
again  Devant  went  to  his  mirror  as  to  a  friend. 
The  color  of  the  eyes  had  changed.  Janet's 
eyes  were  never  so  pale  and  dull.  The  com- 
plexion was  grayish  white  —  the  haunting  like- 
ness was  gone  —  but  the  curious  curve  of  the 
left  ear  stood  in  bold  evidence  and  called  for 
recognition  in  the  final  reckoning. 

"A  thousand  might  have  the  same!"  thought 
the  troubled  man;  but  he  had  never  noticed  it 
but  twice  in  all  his  long  life! 

After  breakfast  that  day  he  went  for  a  walk 
in  the  scrub  oaks.  He  dared  not  go  to  the 
lighthouse,  but  he  saw  no  reason  why  he  should 
not  walk  upon  the  path  leading  to  it.  The 
damp  sodden  leaves  sent  up  a  pungent  odor  as 
his  feet  crushed  them.  A  smell  of  wood  smoke 
was  mingled  with  the  salt  air  from  off  sea;  it 
was  a  perfect  late  autumn  day,  with  a  warning 
of  winter  in  its  touch. 

214 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Devant  walked  slowly  with  bowed  head;  he 
was  pondering  as  to  what  he  should  do  in  the 
future.  His  life  had  never  seemed  more  useless 
than  it  now  appeared  with  the  glaring  doubt 
in  his  mind.  Suddenly  he  was  aware  of  some 
one  approaching,  and  he  raised  his  eyes  hope- 
fully. It  was  Janet,  and  the  breeze,  lifting  her 
hair  from  her  face,  left  the  little  ear  exposed. 
It  was  that  upon  which  the  man's  gaze  rested! 

"Good  morning,,,  said  the  girl,  "I  was  com- 
ing to  Bluff  Head."  Janet  was  the  one  more 
at  ease.  Her  struggle  had  been  along  clearer 
lines. 

"Going  up  to  read  ?"  asked  Devant  uneasily; 
"the  library  is  yours,  my  child."  The  last 
words  had  a  possible  significance  that  was  well- 
nigh  heartbreaking  to  the  man. 

"No:  I  —  I  want  to  say  something  —  to  you! 
I  did  not  seem  to  be  able  to  come  before."  A 
rare  dignity  touched  the  girl.  Her  womanhood 
appeared  to  have  taken  on  a  queenly  attribute; 
but  the  language  of  this  new  womanhood  was 
still  to  learn.  She  had  spent  the  night  at  the 
Light,  and  the  latter  part  of  it  she  had  shared 
Davy's  watch.  Together  they  had  "freshened 
up"  from  the  little  balcony,  and  the  calmness 
of  the  stars  and  David's  philosophy  had  set 
their  seal  upon  her.     She  was  brave  and  tolerant. 

215 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

She  had  chosen  her  path,  and  with  the  courage 
of  the  dunes  she  was  ready  to  tread  it  wher- 
ever it  might  lead. 

"Shall  we  walk  on?"  asked  Devant.  It 
was  easier  than  to  stand  still.  So  they  slowly 
turned  and  went  toward  Bluff  Head. 

"I  know,"  —  the  even  voice  fell  to  a  whisper, 
—  "I  have  just  found  out  that  —  that  Cap'n 
Billy  is  not  my  real  father!" 

Devant  staggered  under  the  blow.  The 
terse  directness,  a  part  of  the  girl's  nature  and 
training,  was  embarrassing  to  the  man  of  the 
world. 

"You  are  sure  of  that?"  he  asked,  when  he 
could  control  his  voice. 

"Yes." 

"  Do  —  do  you  know  who  your  real  father 
is?" 

Janet  looked  fearlessly  up  into  the  haggard, 
eager  face. 

"Yes:  I  know." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"Cap'n  Billy  told  me  that  he  is  not  my 
father;  he  does  not  know  who  my  father  is. 
My  mother  was  very  faithful  to  you,  and  to  him! 
He  told  me  how  she  came  to  him  —  afterward! 
She  did  not  want  Cap'n  Billy  to  save  her  his 
way,  —  she  thought  it  was  not  fair  to  him,  but 

216 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Cap'n  Billy  had  but  one  kind  of  love!  He 
married  her,  and  he  took  care  of  her!  You 
don't  know  how  cruel  these  people  can  be  to  — 
to  girls  like  my  mother,  but  Cap'n  Billy  knew> 
and  he  saved  her!"    The  dark  eyes  were  blazing. 

"Be  less  hard,  my  child,"  groaned  Devant, 
turning  his  face  away;  "God  knows,  I  have 
suffered J"  Janet  paid  small  heed  to  the  words, 
or  to  the  man  beside  her. 

"At  the  last,"  she  went  on  bravely,  "they 
were  happy  in  a  beautiful  way  for  a  little  while. 
Then  she  died!  But  I  was  left,  and  Cap'n 
Billy  loved  me,  and  cared  for  me.  He  was 
father,  mother,  playmate,  everything  to  me!" 
The  eyes  softened,  and  the  girl  turned  and 
faced  her  companion.  "And,"  she  breathed 
hoarsely,  "you  and  I  must  keep  him  from  ever 
knowing  the  rest!" 

"The  rest?"  Devant  asked  slowly. 

"Yes.  About  you.  I  am  not  doing  this 
only  because  I  love  him  better  than  anything 
else  on  earth.  I  am  doing  it  for  my  mother! 
It  is  all  that  she  and  I  can  do  for  him.  Will 
you  promise  ?" 

Devant  leaned  against  a  tree.  Motion  was 
no  longer  possible.  Janet  stood  in  the  path 
and  waited.  The  brute  instinct  arose  in  the 
man's  heart.    This  was  his  child!     In  doing 

217 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

for  her  lay  the  only  expiation  possible  for  him 
in  the  world.  What  were  the  claims  of  that 
man  over  on  the  dunes  compared  to  his,  should 
he  powerfully  press  them  ?  What  if  Captain 
Billy  had  given  his  life  to  the  doing  of  a  duty 
belonging  to  another  ?  The  Tempter  now  took 
on  a  virtuous,  unselfish  guise.  Think  what  the 
girl's  life  might  be!  Could  any  true  love,  even 
such  stupid  love  as  Billy  might  bear  her,  stand 
in  the  way  ?  No;  Billy  would  be  the  first  to 
relinquish  his  hold  upon  her! 

With  the  calm,  steady,  waiting  eyes  upon 
him,  Devant  dared  not  urge  his  first  claim  of 
parentage.     He  would  appeal  to  her  reason. 

"This  is  hardly  a  question  for  you  to  put  to 
me,"  he  said.  "I  must  see  Captain  Billy  and 
talk  to  him  man  to  man." 

"What  for?"  There  was  a  dangerous  light 
in  the  girl's  eyes.  M  Because  you  have  suffered 
for  the  wrong  you  did,  you  think  you  can  ease 
your  conscience  by  confessing  to  Cap'n  Billy, 
and  making  him  suffer  again  ?"  Devant  stared 
at  her. 

"You  think  it  is  for  myself?"  he  asked. 

"Who  then?" 

"Why,  for  you!  Can  you  not  see  what  it 
would  mean  to  you  ?"     Janet  drew  back. 

"You  —  you  want  to  do  things  for  me  ?     You 

218 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

who  left  my  mother  to  die?"  A  fine  scorn 
shook  the  low  voice. 

"My  God!  do  not  be  so  hard.  Only  because 
you  are  young  and  blind  can  you  speak  so 
heartlessly.  Do  you  not  see,  it  is  because  I 
cannot  do  for  her,  that  I  want  now  to  do  for 
you  ?  I  want  it  with  all  my  soul  for  her  sake, 
as  well  as  yours!  I  wish  to  undo,  as  well  as 
I  can,  the  bitter  wrong."     Devant  moaned. 

"Cap'n  Billy  did  that  for  you,  long  ago. 
Your  silence  must  be  his  reward!"  Janet's 
face  shone. 

"Can  you  conceive,"  asked  Devant  hoarsely, 
"what  you  are  giving  up  ?" 

"Yes."  Now  the  shining  eyes  were  misty. 
"Over  on  the  dunes,  after  Billy  told  me  and  I 
had  chosen  my  course,  I  did  think  of  the  other 
way,  just  as  I  used  to  imagine  things  when  I 
was  a  lonely  little  girl,  impossible  things,  you 
know!  I  thought  of  books,  2nd  knowledge, 
and  of  the  great  beautiful  world,  and  all  the 
soft,  pretty  things  that  I  know  I  should  love. 
I  did  not  think  or  imagine  in  my  fancy  that 
you  would  want  to  give  them  to  me;  but  now 
that  I  know  that,  it  does  n't  make  any  difference. 
Every  time  I  think  of  my  Cap'n  Billy,  nothing 
else  matters!"  Two  large  tears  rolled  down 
the  uplifted  face. 

219 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Devant  felt  himself  baffled,  and  anger  arose 
within  him. 

"Suppose,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "suppose  I 
could  offer  you  —  Thornly's  love  V 

The  stab  was  cruel,  and  the  wound  smarted. 
Under  the  soft,  brown  skin  the  color  died  away, 
and  the  eyes  widened  and  deepened. 

"That  is  no  gift  of  yours!"  she  whispered 
proudly;  "and  I  know  now  what  happens  to  girls 
like  my  mother  and  me  when  we  —  forget ! " 

Devant  recoiled.  Then  a  shame  humbled 
and  stung  him. 

"Do  not  judge  him  by  me!"  he  said. 

"I  do  not."  The  words  were  hardly  above 
a  whisper.  "  But  you  know,  and  he  knows,  there 
is  a  bar  between  us,  and  we  must  sail  wide,  if 
we  would  not  be  wrecked.  He  would  not  hurt 
me,  nor  let  me  hurt  myself.  That  is  why  he 
went  away!" 

"  But,"  and  Devant  was  himself  again,  broken, 
beaten,  but  himself,  "if  Captain  Billy  should 
ever  leave  you  —  should  die,  you  understand  ? 
Will  you  not  promise  to  send  for  me  ?  When 
you  are  older,  you  will  judge  less  harshly.  Will 
you  promise  to  let  me  come  next  to  Captain 
Billy  ?"  He  stretched  out  his  hands,  pleadingly. 
Janet  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  she  placed 
her  slim,  brown  hands  in  his. 

220 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"  I  do  not  know.  How  can  I  tell  ?  I  thank 
you,  but  I  cannot  see  any  further  than  Cap'n 
Billy!     Good  bye." 

"Good  bye,  my  child!"  Their  hands 
dropped,  and  they  went  their  ways. 

Janet  was  not  permitted  to  reach  the  Light 
without  further  trouble.  The  day  was  doomed 
to  be  freighted  with  heavy  cares.  In  the  depths 
of  the  scrub  oaks  she  came  upon  Mark  Tapkins,  * 
sitting  upon  a  log  and  looking  as  nearly  tragic 
as  he,  poor,  slow  fellow,  could  look.  When  he 
heard  Janet,  he  raised  his  heavy  eyes  to  her  face. 

"I've  been  waitin'  fur  you,"  he  said.  "I 
saw  you  talkin'  t*  Mr.  Devant  as  I  came  cross 
lots.     I've  got  t'  tell  you!" 

"Tell  me  what,  Mark?"  The  girl  thought 
another  outburst  of  love  was  coming  and  it 
seemed  such  a  shabby,  poor  little  thing,  in  the 
gloom  of  recent  happenings.  And  yet  this 
roused  her  pity.  It  was  so  much  to  Mark,  and 
it  was  his  most  sacred  offering.  She  should 
not    despise    it. 

"'Bout  Maud  Grace!"  Janet  started.  So  it 
was  not  herself  after  all! 

"What  is  the  matter  with  her  now?"  she 
asked. 

"She's  gone!" 

"Gone  where?" 

221 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"The  nation  only  knows!" 

"Well,  Mark,  I  never  have  understood  your 
interest  in  Maud  Grace.  You  could  n't  act 
more  devoted,  if  you  were  her  lover,  except  in 
that  case  you  would  not  have  gone  on  that 
foolish  hunt  for  her  boarder." 

Janet  was  impatient.  She  wanted  to  get 
away  over  to  the  dunes,  to  peace  and  Billy. 

"When  Maud  gets  ready,  she'll  come  home. 
Does  n't  her  mother  know  ? " 

"Janet,  you've  got  t'  stay  an'  listen!" 

"Mark,  I'm  tired.  I  cannot  help  any;  I 
want  to  go  home." 

"You've  got  t'  listen!"  Mark  repeated  dog- 
gedly; and  as  the  girl  took  a  step  forward, 
he  caught  her  skirt  in  his  trembling  lingers. 
"  First  I  took  an  interest  'cause  —  'cause  I 
thought  I  loved  you,  an'  I  did  n't  want  you 
smirched!"  The  words  were  flung  out  des- 
perately, and  they  had  the  desired  effect. 
Janet  started  and  then  stood  rigidly  intent. 

"Smirched?"  she  repeated  slowly,  "what 
do  you  mean?"  And  yet  as  she  asked  the 
question,  light  was  borne  in  upon  her,  —  light 
that  had  had  its  origin  in  the  awakened  woman- 
hood. 

"I  kind  o'  guess  you  know  what  I  mean, 
Janet;  an'  I  wish  t'  the  Lord  I  had  let  you  help 

222 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

frum  the  start.  There  ain't  another  sou!  as  I 
kin  go  t'  here  until  it's  too  late  t'  do  fur  Maud 
Grace  —  not  a  soul  but  you!  An'  God  knows, 
I  don't  understand  how  it  is  I  kin  hope  from 
you;  but  I  kin!  I  jest  kin!  You  won't  be 
hard,  fur  all  you  don't  love  Maud  Grace  much. 
I  know  true  as  heaven,  you'll  be  gentle  t'  her 
now,  when  you  wasn't  before!"  The  poor 
fellow's  face  was  distorted  and  quivering,  but 
he  had  no  need  to  hold  Janet.  She  had  come 
close  and  was  resting  her  hand  upon  his  bowed 
shoulder. 

"Mark!"  she  whispered,  "you  mean  —  you 
mean  ?" 

The  man  nodded  dumbly. 

"And,  of  course,  they  would  all  turn  upon 
her!  They  do  not  seem  to  know  any  reason 
for  showing  mercy.  Oh!  I  do  understand." 
The  dark  eyes  blazed;  then  softened  under  a 
mist  as  memory  recalled  the  pitiful  story  of  that 
other  Quinton  girl;  and  Mrs.  Jo  G.'s  kindness 
that  black  night  when  she,  Janet,  was  born. 
But  now  there  was  no  Cap'n  Billy  to  pilot  this 
sad  little  wreck. 

"I  don't  know  what  t'  do!"  moaned  Mark, 
covering  his  face  with  his  thin,  rough  hands. 
"  I  can't  bear  t'  think  of  her  driftin'  off,  Lord 
knows  where;  an'  I  don't  b'lieve  she's  got  a 

223 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

cent,  an'  even  if  she  walked  t'  the  city,  she 
can't  never  git  him." 

"No!"  Janet  was  thinking  quick  and  hard. 
"When  did  she  go?" 

"She  went  'fore  breakfast,  an'  she  told  her 
little  sister  t'  tell  her  mother  she'd  gone  t' 
you!" 

"Tome?" 

"Yes.  An'  course  that  was  just  t'  spar  fur 
time." 

"Of  course!  Well,  Mark,  we  must  find  her, 
and  then  —  she  may  stay  with  me!"  Janet 
drew  herself  up  very  straight  and  there  was 
defiance  in  her  action  and  expression.  "Are 
any  of  the  boats  gone  ?" 

"Lord  knows!"  shivered  Mark,  "but  she 
would  n't  try  a  boat.  She  can't  sail  fit  fur 
anythin'.  She's  got  the  fear  so  many  down 
here  has  —  fur  the  water.  Don't  you  re- 
member?" But  the  suggestion  brought  a  new 
agony  to  the  poor  fellow.  "Whatever  made 
you  think  of  a  boat  ?"  he  said. 

Suddenly  a  further  knowledge,  born  of  the 
new  womanhood,  almost  blinded  Janet.  This 
simple  fellow,  suffering  at  her  feet,  had  never 
loved  her!  She  had  but  led  him  far  afield  in 
some  strange  fashion.  He  had  always  loved 
the  missing,  giddy  girl;  and  this  awful  trouble 

224 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

had  driven  the  dense  fog  away  forever!  In  the 
clear  view,  Janet's  heart  arose  in  sympathy. 

"You  love  her,  Mark?"  she  whispered, 
"oh!  I  understand."  The  man  looked  at 
her  stupidly,  clasping  and  unclasping  his  bony 
fingers. 

"Do  I  ?"  he  said  brokenly;  "I  thought  't  was 
you!  As  God  hears  me,  I  thought  'twas  you! 
But  now  this  has  happened  'long  of  the  —  the 
poor  little  thing,  it's  kinder  knocked  me  down. 
I  alius  felt  sorry  fur  her!  You  had  so  much 
an'  she  had,  what  you  might  say,  nothin'. 
I  alius  was  a  master  hand  fur  wantin'  t'  help, 
an'  when  I  saw  you  driftin'  off  t'  the  Hills,  I 
wanted  t'  help  you,  an'  I  thought  I  loved  you! 
An'  now  I  want  t'  help  her.  I'm  poor  shucks, 
Janet,  an'  not  over  keen;  but  I'm  fairly  full  of 
trouble  now!"  He  bowed  his  head,  and  the 
big  tears  splashed  upon  his  rough  hands. 

In  all  the  past  Janet  had  never  so  respected 
him  as  she  did  at  that  moment.  Almost  rev- 
erently, she  touched  the  bent  shoulder. 

"It  may  not  be  too  late,  dear  Mark,"  she 
comforted;  "we'li  find  her,  and  all  may  be 
well.  The  best  man  I  ever  knew  did  what  you 
may  have  to  do,  Mark.  Forgive  and  forget, 
and  let  a  great  love  have  its  way!" 

The  poor  fellow  could  not  see  into  the  future. 

225 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

The  remorseful  past  and  the  pain-filled  present 
engulfed  him. 

"  She  use' t'  want  me,"  he  groaned  out,  u  'fore 
the  boarders  come!  She  use'  t'  come  up  t' 
Pa's  an'  act  up  real  pert  an'  comical;  maybe 
if  she  had  n't,  I'd  'a'  noticed  her  more!  Ah! 
if  I'd  only  been  content  t'  see  it  then,  I  might 
have  saved  her.  I  was  only  up  t'  Maud  Grace's 
limit,  but  I  was  alius  a-thinkin'  I  was  more,  an' 
then  when  she  took  t'  the  boarders  I  got  mad 
an',  an'  —  " 

Janet  knelt  upon  the  leaves  and  bent  her 
head  upon  Mark's  knees.  Never  in  her  life 
before  had  she  so  touched  him,  but  she  knew 
now  that  he  and  she  were  out  in  the  open  where 
no  future  misunderstanding  would  darken  their 
way.  He  needed  her  and  she  needed  him;  and 
poor,  lost  Maud  needed  them  both. 

"Don't  take  on,  Janet!"  Mark  touched  the 
bright  head,  with  clumsy,  reverent  hand, 
"  't  war  n't  any  fault  of  yours.  I  did  all  I 
could  t'  bring  myself  up  to  a  p'int  that  I  hoped  I 
could  reach  you  frum  —  but  9t  war  n't  in  me. 
I  was  'bout  Maud  Grace's  limit,  as  I  say,  but 
I  did  n't  want  t'  own  to  it,  an'  now,"  he  gulped 
bravely,  "'t  ain't  much  of  an  ofTerin'!  I'm  a 
poor  shote,  but  if  I  could,  I  'd  use  my  wuthless 
life  fur  her.     It's  'bout  all  I  kin  do." 

226 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"And  it  is  the  greatest  thing  on  earth,  Mark!" 
Janet  smoothed  the  rough  hand.  "Maud  will 
never  come  to  you;  you  must  bring  her  back 
and  I  will  help  you  both.  Go,  Mark,  go  look 
at  the  boats!  She  had  no  money;  she  could 
not  hope  to  walk  far;  in  desperation  she  may 
have  tried  to  get  away  by  water." 

Mark  shook  his  head,  but  started  obediently. 
Once  he  was  out  of  sight,  Janet  turned  into  a 
side  path,  and  ran  like  a  mad  thing  to  the  light- 
house wharf.  The  Comrade  was  gone!  And 
nowhere  on  the  bay  was  the  white  sail  visible! 
Janet  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  the  autumn 
sky.  The  calmness  was  ruffled  near  the  horizon 
by  ragged  little  clouds. 

"The  wind  is  changing,"  she  murmured, 
"the  oyster  boats  are  coming  in.  There  is 
going  to  be  a  wicked  storm  before  nightfall." 
The  bland  sky  seemed  to  give  the  lie  to  such 
reasoning,  but  the  trained  senses  of  the  girl 
could  not  be  deceived.  She  trembled  as  if  the 
coming  cold  already  touched  her;  her  eyes 
widened,  but  her  lips  closed  in  a  firmer  line. 

Away  around  the  cove,  she  saw  Mark  putting 
out  on  the  bay  in  one  of  James  Smith's  boats. 
He  was  reefed  close  and  was  making  for  the 
inlet,  up  Bay  End  way.  He  had  discovered 
from  afar  the  absence  of  the  Comrade. 

227 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"If  the  men  see  the  Comrade,"  Janet  thought, 
"they  will  think  I  am  aboard,  and  no  one  will 
worry  —  but  oh!  poor,  frightened  Maud!" 

By  two  of  the  afternoon  the  autumn  sky  was 
storm-racked.  The  wind  came  up  out  of  the 
sea  with  a  fury  and  an  icy  chill.  The  oyster 
boats  scurried  homeward,  and,  afar,  Mark's 
lonely  sail  was  a  mere  streak  of  white  in  the 
dull  gray0 

"Nobody  must  see  me!"  Janet  mused, 
clutching  her  hands  close.  "If  they  have  seen 
the  Comrade,  they  will  think  I  am  safe  with 
Cap'n  Daddy  by  now.  If  Maud  's  on  the  bay 
Mark  will  find  her  and  bring  her  home!"  With 
that  thought  the  girl  ran  to  the  house. 

Davy  met  her  at  the  lighthouse  door. 

"Ye  look  like  ye'd  been  blown  from  king- 
dom come!"  he  said;  "by  gum!  this  is  a  breeze. 
Had  yer  dinner?" 

"Dinner?  Oh!  yes.  I  had  dinner  —  all  I 
wanted.  I  did  n't  mean  to  be  so  Jate,  Davy, 
I  meant  to  get  your  dinner!" 

"Yer  kinder  pale  round  the  gills,  Janet." 
Davy  looked  keenly  at  the  drawn  face.  "May- 
be ye  eat  somethin'  that  did  n't  set  right  on  yer 
stummick.  Better  take  a  spoonful  of  Cure 
All,  Susan  Jane  alius  thought  considerable  of 
that.     I   could  'a'  sworn   I   saw  the  Comrade 

228 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

puttin'  off  this  mornin'.  I  thought  ye'd  taken 
a  flyin'  trip  to  Billy,     Seen  anythin'  of  Mark  ?" 

"Oh!  yes.  I  nearly  forgot,  Davy,  but  Mark 
may  not  be  here  to-night,  He's — he's  got 
business  over  at  Bay  EncL" 

"How  did  he  go?"  questioned  Davy,  "by 
train?" 

"No!    He  went  in  one  of  James  B/s  boats." 

"He's  a  tarnal  idiot  t'  do  that  in  the  face 
of  this  gale.  He  ain't  no  shucks  of  a  sailor. 
John  Jones  come  off  frum  the  Station  t'-day, 
an'  he  ain't  over  careful,  bein'  what  ye  might 
say  half  fish  an'  half  dare-devil,  but  John,  he 
started  right  back  when  he  left  an  order  fur 
me.  Mark  ought  t*  have  knowed  better. 
Janet,  what  is  the  matter  with  ye  ?  Here  hold 
on,  gal,  till  I  get  that  Cure  All!" 

Janet  held  on,  and  smiled  feebly  as  Davy 
poured  the  burning  liquid  down  her  throat. 

"Thanks!"  she  whispered  presently  0  "1  was 
mistaken,  I  did  not  eat  any  dinner.  Davy, 
I  am  hungry.  I  always  need  my  food,  Davy; 
you  know  how  I  am."  She  was  laughing 
nervously. 

"Come  on,  then!"  commanded  Davy,  eyeing 
her  critically;  "I  ain't  never  seen  ye  so  done 
up  by  goin'  without  one  meal  before.  I  believe 
yer  threatened  with  'spepsy,  it  comes  now  an' 

229 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

then,  with  that  imptiness  in  the  pit  of  yer 
stummick." 

That  night  Janet  tried  to  sleep  in  her  little 
room,  but  the  fury  of  the  storm,  and  her  heavy, 
anxious  secret  forbade  an  instant's  rest.  At 
last,  about  midnight,  she  dressed  and  went  up 
to  Davy.  He  was  standing  near  the  entrance 
of  the  lamp,  and  his  tired  face  was  drawn  and 
pitiful. 

"By  gum!"  he  ejaculated  when  he  saw  the 
girl.  "This  wind  comes  straight  frum  Green- 
land's icy  mountains,  an'  ain't  losin'  any  of 
its  temper  as  it  comes.  The  waves  could  be 
seen  over  the  dunes,  long  'fore  sundown;  an' 
jest  hear  that." 

"What  is  it,  Davy?"  Janet  pressed  beside 
him.  "It  sounds  like  some  one  knocking  on  the 
glass." 

"An*  so  'tis,  so  'tis!  Least  it's  birds. 
Poor,  dumb  things,  blown  on  land  an"  makin' 
fur  the  Light.  Bern'  seafarers,  like  as  not, 
they  know  the  Light  is  t'  guide  'em,  an'  they 
come  t'  what  they  think  is  safety.  Poor,  poor 
things!  They  beat  the  glass  as  if  askin'  fur 
mercy,  an'  shelter,  an'  here  I  be  a-listenin'  t' 
them  knockin'  themselves  t*  death  an'  unable 
t'  help.  If  the  good  God  tikes  heed  of  the 
sparrows  what  falls,  He  ain't  goin'  t'  overlook 

230 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

the  gulls;  but  't  ain't  much  comfort  to  think  on 
that,  when  He  lets  'em  die,  die  right  agin  the 
Light.  Gum!  we  ain't  had  anythin'  like  this 
since  Tom  Davis  was  caught  in  his  skimmy 
over  by  the  dunes  twenty- five  years  back; 
least  we  have  n't  had  anythin'  like  it  as  bad  so 
early  in  the  Fall." 

"Come  down,  Davy,"  pleaded  Janet,  "don't 
stand  and  hear  the  poor  birds  beat  themselves 
to  death.  To-morrow  they  will  lie  thick  in 
the  garden.  Oh!  it  is  a  fearful  gale!  And 
Tom  Davis  was  so  near  the  dunes  that  night, 
was  n't  he,  Davy  ?  When  his  boat  went  over, 
he  could  have  waded  ashore,  only  he  did  not 
know  where  he  was  —  and  the  fog  hid  the 
Light;  but  every  one  knows  about  Tom  Davis, 
and  if  a  boat  did  go  over,  a  —  a  person  would 
try  to  wade  ashore.  Don't  you  think  so,  Davy, 
remembering,  as  he  would,  Tom  Davis  ?" 

"Ye  got  Mark  on  yer  mind,  eh?"  Davy 
came  down  to  the  little  sitting  room  and  turned 
up  the  lamp  wick.  ''Well,  ye  bet  Mark  put 
in  somewhere  'fore  this  gale  struck  him.  Tom 
Davis  was  different,  he  did  n't  take  no  precau- 
tions, ever.  He  was  in  his  ilers  an'  boots  when 
he  went  over,  an'  he  was  n't  reefed  none.  He 
wanted  t'  get  here  quick  with  a  fair  wind  —  if 
such   a   foul   gale   could   be   called   fair.     He 

231 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

wanted  t*  take  part  in  a  show  down  t'  the 
church.  But  his  time  had  come;  an*  the  cur- 
tain went  down  on  him  out  there  alone  in  his 
water-sogged  boots  an'  heavy  iler  coat!  Tom 
Davis  was  born  fur  misfortin  as  the  sparks 
fly  up'ard.  Him,  with  them  boots  an'  ilers  on, 
in  a  gale  sich  as  that  war!" 

"Davy,  what  was  that?"  Janet  clung  to  the 
keeper,  her  eyes  dark  and  fear-filled. 

"It  sounded  'most  like  a  human  call,  now 
didn't  it?"  said  Davy,  raising  his  head;  "it's 
a  gull,  that's  what  it  is,  Janet.  A  more  knowin* 
gull  than  the  rest!" 

"Are  you  sure,  Davy?  It  could  not  be  — 
anybody  calling,  could  it?" 

"Gosh!  no,  no.  What  do  ye  suppose  any 
one  would  be  callin'  fur  ? " 

"Why,  if  he  were  in  danger." 

"'T  ain't  anybody  on  the  bay,  Janet.  City 
folks  is  gone,  an'  the  Quintonites  ain't  chancin' 
a  pleasure  trip  in  this  gale.  Get  downstairs, 
Janet;  it's  just  possible  some  one's  knockin' 
an*  callin'  below." 

Janet  waited  for  no  second  bidding.  Down 
the  iron  stairs  she  ran,  and  never  paused  until 
she  reached  the  lower  door.  This  she  opened 
cautiously,  and  braced  herself  against  it  to  keep 
out  further  entrance  of  the  terrific  wind, 

232 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Any  one  there?"  she  shouted.  The  noise 
of  the  storm  alone  replied. 

"Any  one  outside  ?"  Again  she  called.  A 
soft  something  fell  at  her  feet  with  a  dull  thud. 
It  was  a  gull,  broken  winged,  its  life  beaten  out 
against  the  glass  of  the  Light!  Once  again  she 
shouted,  "Any  one  there  ?'' 

On  the  wind  came  that  strange,  weird  call 
that  had  frightened  her  in  the  tower.  It  rose 
and  fell  piteously,  and  passed  on  with  the 
blast. 

"I  never  heard  that  [before  to-night!"  Janet 
murmured,  as  she  forced  the  door  shut;  "it  is 
new  and  awful  1" 

She  went  into  the  living  room  and  lighted  the 
fire.  She  would  not  try  to  sleep  again.  She 
made  some  cofFee  and  carried  it  up  to  Davy; 
she  dared  not  stay  alone.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life  she  was  afraid  and  thoroughly 
unnerved. 

That  morning,  before  Davy  had  come  from 
the  lamp,  there  was  a  knocking  on  the  outer 
door,  and  a  pushing  as  well.  Janet,  coming 
down  the  stairs  with  the  empty  tray,  saw  the 
door  open,  and  in  the  light  of  the  gray,  still 
morn,  for  the  storm  was  past,  she  recognized 
Mark  in  a  yellow  oiler  with  a  sou'wester  nearly 
hiding  his  wet  and  ashen  face. 

233 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"You  found  her?"  The  words  broke  from 
Janet  like  a  sob. 

"Not  yet."  Mark's  voice  was  slow  and  weak. 
"We  want  Davy  t'  come  an'  help,  soon  as  he  can. 
An'  can  you  let  me  have  a  cup  o'  coffee,  Janet  ? 
I'm  most  done  up.  The  —  the  Comrade  is  bot- 
tom up  round  by  the  P'int  an'  I  —  I  guess  she 
was  bein'  beaten  toward  home;  but  —  but — " 

Janet  dropped  the  tray  and  ran  to  Mark; 
she  drew  him  into  the  room  and  pushed  him 
toward  a  chair. 

"Sit  down!"  she  said  brokenly.  "Sit  down, 
you  look  as  if  you  would  drop.  See,  I  have  the 
coffee  all  ready;  it  will  take  but  a  minute." 
She  hurried  the  preparation,  and  after  she  saw 
Mark  gulp  the  strong,  hot  drink,  she  asked 
quietly,  but  with  awe  in  her  voice,  "Can  you 
tell  me  now,  Mark?" 

"There  ain't  much  t'  tell.  When  a  boat's 
bottom  up  in  such  a  gale  as  was  a-blowin'  last 
night,  an'  only  a  poor,  little  frightened  gal  was 
at  the  tiller,  why  —  why  there  ain't,  what  you 
might  say,  anythin'  t'  tell." 

Mark  stared  dully  before  him.     He  was  tired 
and  soul-weary.     "She's  got  away  fast  enough 
this  time,  Janet,"  he  went  on  drearily;  "'t  ain't 
likely  any  one  will  be  troubled  settlin*  things 
fur  her  now." 

234 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Don't!  don't!  Mark."  Janet  was  crouch- 
ing by  his  chair,  her  tear-filled  eyes  looking 
wildly  at  his  dull,  vacant  face.  "We,  you  and 
I,  were  trying,  you  know!" 

"Yes;  but  it  was  uphill  work,  an'  would  have 
been  wuss,  like  as  not.  'T  ain't  easy  settin' 
straight  a  botch  like  that.  I  guess  this  is  the 
best  way.  Don't  take  on,  Janet!  Seems  like 
she  alius  got  the  rough  part,  but  you  could  n't 
help  that  none.  I  guess  you'd  been  the  quick- 
est one  t*  help  her  if  she'd  cried  out  t'  you;  but 
even  you  could  n't  have  helped  much." 

Janet  heard  again  in  fancy  the  weird  call  of 
the  night* 

"No;  I  could  —  not  —  help!"  She  shud- 
dered.    "Where  are  you  going,  Mark  ?" 

"Back  t'  the  bay.  They're  draggin'  round 
by  the  P'int.  Her  father's  there,  an'  some 
others,  I  found  the  Comrade  'fore  daybreak 
an'  got  them  up.  If  Davy  can  lend  a  hand, 
later,  tell  him  t'  come  along;  he  was  the  one 
what  found  Tom  Davis,  they  say.  Davy  seems 
to  have  a  sense  'bout  where  t'  look." 

With  his  heavy  oilskin  coat  hanging  loose, 
and  his  head  bowed,  Mark  went  back  to  do 
all  that  could  be  done  for  poor  Maud  Grace. 


235 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BLUFF  HEAD  was  closed.  The  master 
had  left  word  with  Eliza  Jane  Smith 
that  after  his  departure  the  house  key 
should  be  delivered  to  Janet  with  a  note  of  ex- 
planation. 

The  note  reminded  her  that  next  to  Captain 
Billy,  he  was  the  one  upon  whom  she  must  call 
in  case  of  need,  and  he  left  the  library  in  her 
keeping  with  a  list  of  books  for  study  and 
recreation. 

Snow  was  on  everything,  even  on  the  new 
little  grave  in  the  desolate  churchyard  where 
poor  Maud  Grace  and  her  pitiful  secret  slept. 
They  had  found  the  child  late  in  the  morning 
of  that  awful  day  succeeding  the  storm.  In 
the  small  clinched  left  hand  was  a  bit  of  water- 
soaked  paper.  No  one  but  Mark  had  taken 
heed  of  it,  but  he  guessed  that  it  was  the  card 
which  was  to  guide  the  girl  to  the  man  who 
had  deserted  her.  Perhaps  in  that  last  hour 
of  struggle  and  fear,  she  had  taken  it  from  its 
hiding  place  for  comfort  or,  perhaps,  to  destroy 

236 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

it  when  hope  was  past.  But  it  gave  no  clue. 
It  was  merely  a  wet  pulp  in  a  thin  little  rigid 
hand! 

Mrs.  Jo  G.  took  her  grief  stolidly.  It  was 
not  in  her  to  cry  out  or  moan,  but  she  felt  her 
loss  and  sought  to  explain  the  strange  ending 
to  the  young  life. 

"Twas  this  way,"  she  said  to  Eliza  Jane 
Smith,  "the  boarders,  an'  all  the  life  of  the 
summer,  had  onsettled  Maud  Grace  consider- 
able. She  wanted  company  all  the  time.  She 
sort  o'  turned  t*  Janet,  an',  like  as  not,  that 
mornin'  she  went  t'  the  Light  t'  see  her.  Not 
findin'  her,  an'  seem*  the  Comrade  at  the  dock 
an*  John  Jones's  boat  puttm'  back  t'  the  Station, 
like  Davy  said  he  had  done,  Maud  Grace  just 
fixed  it  in  her  mind  that  Janet  was  with  John 
Jones,  an  so  she  took  the  Comrade  an*  went 
after  them.  Then  when  the  wind  came  up, 
she  lost  her  head,  an'  so  —  "  Mrs.  Jo  G.  at 
this  juncture  hid  her  face  in  her  checked  apron 
and  silently  rocked  back  and  forth.  She  could 
not  think  of  the  night  and  storm,  the  lonely, 
frightened  girl  dashed  hither  and  yon  in  the 
little  boat,  without  breaking  down.  Life  near 
the  dunes  was  stern  and  the  people  had  learned 
to  accept  calmly  the  storm  and  dangfv,  but, 
just  at  first,  it  was  always  hard. 

237 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Mark  Tapkins  divided  his  time  between  his 
home  and  the  Light,  but  no  longer  did  he  raise 
his  eyes  to  Janet.  Mark  had  got  his  bearings 
at  last,  and  was  steering  his  lonely  way  through 
sullen  and  bitter  waters.  Trouble  had  set  a 
strange  dignity  upon  him. 

Davy,  seeing  others  downcast,  rose  to  tune- 
ful heights.  Not  only  the  landings,  but  the 
house,  the  long  flight  of  steps,  and  the  wind- 
swept balcony  and  shining  Light  knew  his 
cheerful  songs. 

"Singings  a  might  clarifyin,  exercise,"  he 
said  to  Janet;  "it  opens  the  body  an'  soul,  so 
t'  speak,  an'  lets  more'n  the  tune  an*  words  out. 
The  angels  sing  in  glory,  an*  I  mind  how  't  is 
said  the  mornin'  stars  sang  together.  So  long 
as  I  've  got  a  voice,  I  'm  goin'  t'  sing,  an'  drown 
the  sound  of  worse  things."  So  Davy  sang 
and  guided  many  a  sad  thought  into  safer 
channels. 

Over  at  the  Station  the  crew  patiently  went 
through  their  routine.  The  short  dark  days 
passed  with  the  monotony  that  was  second 
nature  to  the  brave  fellows.  Perhaps  their 
greatest  courage  was  displayed  in  their  homely, 
detached  lives.  They  cooked;  they  slept;  they 
drilled  and  patrolled  the  beach.  They  talked 
little  to  each  other;  but  they  were  ready  for 

238 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

near  and  far-off  duty,  should  a  signal  be  dis- 
played. Small  wages  repaid  them  for  their 
faithful  endurance;  they  were  not  permitted  to 
add  to  their  income  by  other  labor,  and  they 
knew  that  when  age  or  weakness  overtook  them 
the  government  they  served  as  faithfully  as 
any  soldier  could,  would  discard  them  for 
younger  or  stronger  men.  Nevertheless  they 
bore  their  part  uncomplainingly  through  deadly 
loneliness  or  tragic  danger. 

"It  looks  like  it  was  goin'  t'  be  a  hard  winter, 
settin'  in  so  early  an*  so  persistent,"  said  Billy 
one  day.  Billy  took  more  heed  of  the  weather 
than  did  the  others.  The  patrols  tired  him 
more  now  than  they  ever  had  before. 

"Like  as  not!"  agreed  Jared  Brown;  "I  saw 
a  skim  of  porridge  ice,  this  side  the  bar,  as  I 
turned  in  this  mornin\" 

Billy  nodded. 

"Janet  comin'  on  this  winter?" 

"No,  she's  mostly  goin'  t'  stay  off.  Davy 
needs  her  more'n  I  do,  an*  't  ain't  no  fit  place 
over  here  for  jest  one  woman." 

"'T  ain't  that!"  The  smoke  rose  high  be- 
tween the  men. 

"Heard  how  Mark  Tapkins  seems  t'  feel 
Jo  G.'s  gal's  death?" 

"Yes!  yes!" 

239 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"  I  thought  once  't  was  your  Janet/' 

"Well,  't  war  n't."  Billy  felt  justified  in  this 
denial,  though  at  one  time  he  had  thought  so 
himself. 

"There  don't  seem  t'  be  any  one  likely  fur 
Janet  hereabouts.  A  little  larnin'  spiles  a  gal, 
Billy." 

"Is  them  yer  sentimints  ?" 

"They  be." 

"Well,  folks  differ.     Janet  pleases  me." 

"Yes,  but  ye  can't  'spect  to  handle  Janet's 
craft  forever.  She's  got  t'  rely  'pon  her  own 
sailin'  some  day." 

"Like  as  not,  but  when  that  time  comes, 
Janet  '11  take  the  tiller  without  any  fuss.  That 's 
the  way  she's  built." 

"Like  as  not." 

Over  on  the  mainland,  James  B.  was  com- 
fortably happy.  With  the  closing  of  Bluff  Head, 
his  unmistakable  duty  ended.  He  could  take 
no  other  job  while  waiting  for  Billy's  delayed 
surrender,  and  he  could  loaf  at  the  village  store 
or  sleep  behind  his  own  kitchen  stove  in  virtu- 
ous comfort.  He  was  at  peace  with  the  world 
and  had  no  desire  to  see  Billy  resign  from  the 
crew  in  his  favor. 

Social  functions  grew  apace  as  winter  clutched 
the  coast  in  real  earnest.     The  donation  party 

240 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

was  a  brilliant  success  —  from  the  congregation's 
point  of  view.  They  had  a  good  time  and  made 
deep  inroads  into  the  provisions  they  had 
brought,  leaving  the  cleaning  up  for  the  minis- 
ter's wife.  Christmas  festivities  lightened  the 
time,  too,  and  for  a  space  made  the  hard-working 
men  and  women  as  gay  as  little  children.  Sev- 
eral travelling  entertainments  later  had  shown  a 
fraternal  spirit  and  "stopped  over"  at  Quinton. 
They  were  always  generously  patronized  and 
left  a  ripple  of  excitement  behind  them.  One 
inspired  some  of  the  young  people  of  the  place 
to  start  a  dramatic  society.  It  began  with  an 
energy  that  threatened  to  swamp  all  other 
social  and  religious  functions.  After  many 
rehearsals  a  play  was  announced,  and  the  entire 
population  turned  out  in  force.  The  play  was 
given  in  Deacon  Thomas's  parlor,  because  that 
had  a  rear  room  opening  into  it  that  could  be 
used  as  a  stage,  but  one  scenic  touch  in  the 
stage  property  doomed  the  aspiring  artists  to 
defeat  and  the  society  to  annihilation. 

A  donkey  was  required  in  the  play.  No  one 
had  genius  nor  ambition  enough  to  create  an 
entire  one,  but  a  very  realistic  head  was  con- 
structed, and  this,  fastened  to  a  broomstick 
and  thrust  forward  at  the  psychological  moment, 
produced  a  startling  and  thrilling  effect.     The 

241 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

audience  was  stirred  to  its  depth.  Most  of  the 
young  people  were  either  on  the  stage  or  behind 
the  curtain;  but  the  few  who  were  in  the  audience 
broke  into  cheers,  which  were  quickly  quelled 
by  Deacon  Thomas,  whose  son  John  had  led 
the  applause.  He  bent  forward  and  gripped 
Deacon  Farley  by  the  shoulder. 

"Silas!"  he  said,  "I  don't  see  anythin'  sinful 
in  the  speakin'  part,  but  that  animal  is  too  much 
like  a  theayter!" 

That  was  the  battle  cry  of  defeat.  The 
€i  theayter,"  to  Quinton,  was  as  pernicious  as 
a  bullfight  would  have  been  to  a  Puritan. 

Janet,  who  was  accountable  for  the  donkey 
head,  felt  a  real  disappointment  in  the  down- 
fall of  the  dramatic  society.  It  had  appealed 
to  her  artistic,  imaginative  nature.  In  it  she 
saw  a  glimmer  of  enjoyment  which  all  the  other 
village  pastimes  lacked.  She  loved  dancing, 
but,  without  knowing  why,  she  disliked  to 
dance  with  the  young  men  of  the  place.  With 
the  yearning  of  youth  for  popularity  and  com- 
panionship she  felt  the  growing  conviction  that 
she  was  outside  the  inner  circle.  Davy  had 
closed  the  lips  of  idle  gossipers,  but  even  he  was 
unable  to  open  the  hearts  of  suspicious  neigh- 
bors. The  girl  longed  to  draw  to  herself  human 
love  and  loyalty,  but  her  every  attempt  failed. 

242 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Davy,"  she  said  with  a  deep  sigh,  "I  reckon 
I'm  just  a  bungler.  Everything  I  do  seems 
wrong.  1 5m  afraid,"  —  and  here  she  grew 
dreamy,  —  "I'm  afraid  I'm  like  the  poor 
poplars.  I  see  over  the  dunes.  I  see  too  much, 
and  I  frighten  others." 

"'T  ain't  overwise,  Janet,"  mused  Davy 
through  the  tobacco  smoke,  "to  get  t'  thinkin' 
what  ye  are  an'  what  ye  ain't.  Let  other  folks 
do  that.     Jest  be  somethin'." 

"Yes,  yes,  Davy,  but  what?  Everything  I 
try  to  be,  I  fail  in."  Janet  thought  of  the 
chance  that  lay  in  the  distant  city  and  wondered 
if  she  would  have  failed  there. 

"Well,  I  alius  take  it,"  Davy  replied,  "that 
the  good  God  gives  us  jest  as  much  t'  do  as 
we're  able  t'  do,  an'  He  wants  it  well  done. 
He  ain't  goin'  t'  chuck  jobs  around  t'  folks  that 
ain't  equal  t'  doin'  well  what  they  has  in  hand. 
Fur  instance,"  Davy  pointed  his  remark  with 
the  stem  of  his  pipe,  "ye  ain't  such  an  all-fired 
good  housekeeper  as  ye  might  be!" 

"I  know  it,  Davy." 

"An'  yer  clo'es,  while  they  become  ye  like  as 
not,  have  a  loose  look  in  the  sewin'  that  might  be 
bettered.  The  fact  is,  Janet,  ye  ain't  pertikiler 
'bout  the  fussin'  things!  An'  it  may  be,  yer  way 
lies  in  perfectin'  yerself  in  the  fussin's  of  life." 

243 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Oh!  you  dear  Davy!"  Janet  was  laughing 
above  her  inclination  to  cry.  "I  do  believe  you 
are  right.  I'm  going  to  pay  particular  attention 
to  the  little  fussy  things.  Dear  knows!  if  I  do 
them  all  well,  I  '11  have  little  time  for  discontent." 
She  stood  up  —  she  and  Davy  were  in  the  living 
room,  while  Mark  was  doing  duty  aloft  —  and 
flung  her  strong,  young  arms  above  her  head. 

"Davy,  I  wish  just  once  in  my  life  I  could  — 
let  myself  go!  I  don't  care  much  how,  but 
just  go!  I'd  like  to  take  a  ship  out  to  sea,  not 
the  bay  but  the  open,  middle  ocean,  and  go 
just  where  I  pleased." 

"Ye'd  get  wrecked  fust  thing!"  broke  in 
Davy. 

"But  I'd  be  doing  something  big  until  I  got 
wrecked.  Or  I'd  like  to  be  alone  on  a  great 
desert  where  I  could  shout  and  dance  and  sing, 
and  no  one  would  be  there  to  call  me  mad." 

"But  ye'd  be  mad,  jest  the  same."  Davy 
was  watching  the  flashing  face  uneasily.  The 
gossip  that  had  drifted  to  him  had  but  strength- 
ened his  love  and  care  for  Billy's  girl.  He  was 
a  hardy  support  now,  protecting  this  free  nature 
from  outer  harm  and  inward  hurt. 

"No,  no,  Janet!  Don't  hanker  arter  the 
ocean  nor  the  desert  till  ye  know  how  t'  handle 
yerself.     Oceans  an'  deserts  ain't  no  jokes  fur 

244 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

greenhorns.  I  heard  Mark  say  the  bay  was 
froze  over.  That  don't  happen  often,  so  early 
as  this/' 

"I'm  going  to  get  my  ice  boat  out  to-morrow, 
Davy.  Life  on  an  ice  boat  is  life!  A  sail- 
boat is  not  bad  with  a  good  wind,  but  you 
always  have  to  take  the  water  into  your  reckon- 
ing then.  But  the  ice  —  ah!  There  is  nothing 
there  but  you  and  the  wind  to  consider!" 

"An'  holes!"  Davy  added. 

"You're  just  an  old  pessimist,  Davy-" 
Janet  laughed. 

"Like  as  not!"  Davy  agreed.  He  hadn't 
an  idea  what  a  pessimist  was,  but  he  never 
wasted  time  inquiring  as  to  the  labels  others 
attached  to  him. 

That  night,  winter,  in  its  grimmest  sense, 
settled  upon  Quinton.  The  bay  became  a 
glistening  roadway  between  the  mainland  and 
the  dunes.  Children  on  skates  or  in  ice  boats 
filled  the  short,  cold  days  with  laughter  and  fun. 
Sleighing  parties  flashed  hither  and  yonder 
with  never  a  fear  of  a  crack  or  hole;  and  beyond 
the  dunes  the  life  crew  kept  a  keener  watch 
upon  the  outer  bar.  Chunky  ice  formed  near 
shore,  and  the  tides  bore  it  inward  and  left  it 
high  upon  the  beach.     Day  by  day  it  grew  in 

245 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

height  like  a  shining,  curving  line  of  alabaster, 
showing  where  the  high-water  mark  had  been. 
And  upon  a  certain  threatening  day,  John 
Thomas  came  off  and  stopped  at  the  Light  to 
have  a  word  with  Davy. 

"He  did  n't  want  me  t'  say  anythin'  t'  ye, 
but  it  don't  settle  on  my  mind  as  jest  right 
nott\     Billy's  had  a  spell!" 

Davy  pulled  up  his  trousers;  with  him  a  sure 
sign  of  deep  emotion. 

"What  kind?"  he  asked. 

"Sort  o'  peterin'  out.  He  was  peelin*  taters 
in  the  Station,  when  all  of  a  suddint  he  sot 
down  kinder  forcible  on  a  chair,  dropped  the 
knife  an'  tater,  an'  looked  at  me  as  if  I  'd  done 
somethin'  t'  hirm  I  ran  crost  t'  him  an'  stood 
by,  so  t'  speak.  Then  he  kinder  laughed  an' 
said,  distant  an'  thick,  'That  was  comical!  I 
felt  like  my  wTorks  had  run  down!'  Billy  ain't 
what  he  once  was." 

Davy  set  his  lips  in  a  grim  line. 

"He  ought  t'  have  a  lighter  job !"  he  muttered. 
"How  is  he  now  ?" 

"Oh!  he's  come  round.  But  spells  is  spells 
an'  yer  got  t'  look  out.  Don't  tell  Janet; 
Billy  was  sot  agin  that,  somethin'  fierce." 

"I  don't  know  as  Billy  should  want  t'  shield 
her  more'n  common  sense  p'ints.     I  feel  she 

246 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

ought  t'  know.  'T  ain't  pleasant  t'  get  a  knock 
in  the  back  of  yer  head;  an'  that's  what  Janet's 
goin'  t'  get  some  day  about  Billy." 

"He  says  she  knows  enough;  an'  he  ain't 
goin'  t'  have  her  pestered." 

"Well,  t'-morrer  I'm  goin'  on,"  nodded 
Davy,  "an'  Billy  ain't  goin'  t'  honey  fugle  me 
none.  Arter  I  cast  my  eye  on  him,  I'm  goin' 
t'  give  myself  orders.     Sighted  anythin'  lately  ?" 

"A  schooner  got  mighty  near  the  bar  'long 
'bout  sundown  last  night.  Kinder  skittish 
actin'  hussy  she  was,  but  she  turned  out  an' 
cleared  off  without  much  trouble.  We  was  all 
ready  fur  her." 

"Big  sea,  too!" 

"Powerful!  An'  I  tole  Cap'n  that  I've  got 
kind  o'  superstitious  'bout  them  boats  as  make 
a  near  call  an'  then  sidle  off.  Twict  durin' 
my  time  a  real  thing  has  happened  soon  after. 
Seems  like  they  come  t'  see  if  yer  watchin'; 
kinder  gettin'  yer  attention,  so  t'  speak,  an' 
warnin'  ye  that  ye  ain't  there  fur  fun.  I'm 
goin'  on  'bout  three  this  afternoon.  Sky  looks 
nasty." 

"It  does  that!"  agreed  Davy,  "an'  it's  my 
turn  up  aloft  t'-night.  I  somehow  feel  more 
certain  when  I'm  there  myself  in  foul  weather. 
Mark  ain't  never  done  anythin'  t'  cause  me  t' 

247 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

distrust  him,  but  Lord!  he's  got  that  unfortnit 
air  of  makin'  ye  distrust  yerself  about  him." 

"Mark  lacks  salt!"  John  laughed  good- 
naturedly.  "If  he  an'  Pa  had  a  dash  o'  sea- 
sonin'  in  'em,  they'd  be  all  right;  they're  flat, 
that's  all." 

"Like  as  not!"  Davy  said;  "but  flats  ain't 
the  best  kind  o'  things  t'  run  on,  in  a  storm." 

So  Davy  held  his  peace  regarding  Billy's 
spell,  until  he  could  have  a  look  at  Billy  him- 
self; and  all  that  cold,  dreary  day  Janet  worked 
at  the  small  fussy  things  of  her  daily  life,  keep- 
ing her  hands  busy  but  having  time  and  to  spare 
for  her  active  brain  to  wander  far.  She  lived 
over  again  the  summer,  the  wonderful  summer. 
She  felt  the  yearning  for  books  and  the  quiet 
of  the  Bluff  Head  library.  She  recalled  De- 
vant  with  a  sense  of  hurt  and  pity;  but  Thornly 
came  to  her  memory  with  a  radiance  that  grew 
with  absence  and,  perhaps,  forgetfulness  on  his 
part. 

With  the  proud  young  womanhood  that  re- 
mained with  the  girl  like  a  royal  birthright,  the 
knowledge  of  all  that  Thornly's  renunciation  of 
her  help  in  his  art  meant  brought  the  warm 
blood  to  her  cheek  and  a  prayer  of  gratitude 
to  her  lips.  She  could  afford  to  live  and  work 
apart;  she  could  be  glad  in  worshipping  her 

248 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

ideal  of  all  that  was  brave  and  manly,  even 
though  she  knelt  forever  before  an  empty  shrine, 

Billy  and  Davy  loomed  upon  her  near  horizon 
in  added  splendor.  Ah!  she  had  known  such 
good  men!  She  was  very  blest.  And  so  she 
sang  as  she  worked. 

About  noon  of  the  winter's  day,  James  Bc 
slouched  down  to  the  Light  and  entered  the 
living  room  where  Janet  sat  darning  Davy's 
coarse  gray  socks. 

"Has  John  Thomas  gone  on  yet  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  Janet,  "his  boat  is  at  the  dock." 

"I'm  thinkin'  of  goin'  on  with  him.  Looks 
like  a  rough  enough  storm  was  comin'  up,  an' 
if  anythin'  should  happen  an'  extry  hand  or 
two,  over  at  the  Station,  would  n't  come  amiss. 
Eliza  Jane  's  been  havin'  feelin's  in  her  bones 
that  I  better  be  over  there." 

Janet's  eyes  flashed,  but  the  drooping  lids 
hid  them.  She  could  not  tell  why,  but  every 
time  James  B.  went  over  to  the  Station  she 
resented  it.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  keeping 
an  eye  on  Cap'n  Billy,  and  it  aroused  her  dis- 
like and  suspicion. 

"  Eliza  Jane's  bones  must  be  troublesome  for 
the  rest  of  the  family,"  she  said. 

"They  be!"  nodded  James.  "I  told  Eliza 
Jane  t'-day,  that  t'  be  rooted  out  in  the  teeth 

249 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

of  the  kind  of  storm  this  one  is  like  t'  be,  jest 
fur  feelin's  in  her  bones,  war  n't  exactly  fair 
t'  me." 

"Why  do  you  go  ?"  The  girl  raised  her  great 
eyes  and  looked  full  at  him. 

His  furtive  glance  fell. 

"'Cause  Eliza  Jane  said  t'!"  he  answered 
doggedly.  "  She  was  down  t'  Miss  Thomas's  an' 
when  she  knew  John  Thomas  was  off,  she  sot 
her  mind  on  my  goin'  on  with  him.  I  kind  o' 
hoped  he  was  gone." 

"Well,  he  is  n't.  There  he  goes  now  down 
to  the  dock,  It's  queer  he  does  n't  stop  and 
speak  a  minute." 

James  B.  slouched  toward  the  door.  "Any 
message  fur  Cap'n  Billy?"  he  said. 

"Just  my  love,  and  tell  him  I'm  coming  on 
to-morrow  or  next  day.  Shut  the  door,  James, 
the  wind  comes  in  as  if  it  were  solid." 

She  watched  the  two  men  make  ready  the 
little  ice  boat,  she  saw  them  get  aboard,  and 
almost  on  the  instant  the  steadily  increasing 
wind  caught  the  toy-like  thing  and  bore  it  with 
amazing  speed  past  the  Point  and  over  toward 
the  dunes! 

Then  an  anxiety  grew  in  her  heart.  Of  late 
she  had  been  subject  mentally  to  sensations  that 
in  a  measure  were  similar  to  those  that  affected 

250 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Eliza  Jane's  bones.  She  was  depressed  or 
elated  without  seeming  cause0  It  annoyed  and 
shamed  her,  but  she  could  not  control  it.  John 
Thomas's  return  to  the  Station  without  a  word 
to  her,  his  visit  to  his  mother  and  Eliza  Jane's 
prompt  despatch  of  James  B.  to  the  dunes, 
grew  to  ominous  proportions,  as  the  lonely  girl 
dwelt  upon  them. 

"I  wonder  if  my  Cap'n  Daddy  is  all  right?" 
she  thought  wistfully.  She  was  merely  carry- 
ing out  Billy's  desire  in  remaining  so  much  upon 
the  mainland ',  her  own  inclination  was  for  the 
desolate  little  cottage  near  the  Station,  and 
the  loving  companionship  of  Billy 

"I  don't  care  what  he  says,"  she  whispered 
to  herself,  "I'm  going  to  go  on  and  stay  with 
him  part  of  the  time!  I  need  him  even  if  he 
does  n't  need  me."  She  wiped  her  tears  upon 
the  rough  gray  sock  that  covered  her  hand. 
"I'm  just  like  Mark.  Because  I  cannot  do 
what  I'm  fit  to  do,  I'm  failing  in  everything. 
There  is  no  use!  I  must  go  to  Cap'n  Billy, 
and  learn  to  be  happy  with  him  and  —  nothing 
else!" 

The  determination  to  go  to  the  dunes  brought 
a  sense  of  comfort  with  it,  but  a  nervousness 
grew  apace.  It  was  as  if,  now  that  she  had 
decided  to  go,  she  was  in  a  hurry  to  start.     She 

251 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

was  conscious  of  a  trembling  eagerness  in  every 
act.  She  put  her  mending  away;  she  prepared 
the  noonday  meal  with  vigor  and  intensity, 
selecting  what  she  knew  Davy  most  liked. 

"This  is  a  feast!"  gloated  Davy,  looking 
around  his  humble  board  and  sniffing  appre- 
ciatively the  steaming  favorites.  "Looks  like 
ye'd  caught  on,  Janet/' 

"So  I  have,  Davy,  I've  gripped  for  sure  and 
certain." 

"Did  n't  tell  ye,  did  I,  that  Mark  is  goin'  t" 

"Going  where?"  Janet  laid  down  her  knife 
and  fork,  and  looked  interested. 

"Him  an'  Pa  is  goin'  t'  build,  'twixt  here  an' 
the  Hills,  an*  open  a  inn.  They  plan  t'  move 
the  old  house  down,  an'  jine  it  on." 

"An  inn?"     Janet  laughed. 

"Them  was  his  words.  A  inn!  Sometimes 
it  seems  like  Mark  was  walkin'  o'  a  dark  night 
on  cold,  wet  sand.  He  slaps  down  his  foot, 
sort  o'  careless,  an'  strikes  phosphorus.  He 
ain't  got,  what  ye  might  call,  seem'  qualities, 
but  he  strikes  out  light!  That's  the  way  it 
was  with  him  tellin'  Pa  'bout  sellin'  crullers. 
The  old  man  made  a  small  fortin.  An'  now 
this  inn  will  pan  out,  you  jest  mark  my  words. 
It  stands  t'  reason  folks  would  rather  go  to  a 
inn  than  to  a  boardin'  house!"     Davy  grinned 

252 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

at  Janet  over  a  cup  of  tea  green  enough  and 
strong  enough  to  curl  any  ordinary  tongue. 

"  Pa  's  goin'  t'  cook,  an'  Mark  's  goin'  t'  run 
the  business,"  added  Davy. 

"Well,  they'll  have  good  cooking."  Janet 
smiled  as  she  thought  of  the  scheme.  "Maybe 
they'll  let  me  wait  upon  table." 

"Like  as  not  they  will  if  ye  want  t\  Well, 
't  ain't  any  more  than  fair,  ye  consarned  little 
trap,  but  that  ye  should  do  yer  turn  at  waitin' 
on  Mark.  Sho!  just  hear  that  gale,  will  ye! 
It's  steered  round  an'  is  comin'  straight  off  sea. 
By  gum!  If  any  craft  drifts  on  t'  the  bar 
t'-night  there's  goin'  t'  be  spry  dancin'  at  the 
Station."  Davy  went  to  the  window,  and 
peered  out.  The  early  afternoon  was  bitterly 
cold,  and  darkened  by  wind-driven  clouds,  full 
of  storm  and  fury. 

"They've  got  an  extra  hand,  such  as  it  is." 
Janet  came  and  stood  close  by  Davy. 

"Who?"  he  asked. 

"  James  B.     He  went  on  with  John  Thomas." 

"Did,  did  he?  Well,  by  gum!  Janet,  I 
wish  to  thunder  I  could  get  Billy  to  give  up  the 
Life  Crew  an'  take  Mark's  place  here!" 

"Why,  Davy?"  There  was  intensity,  and 
pathos  in  the  question,  and  trouble  in  the 
gentle  eyes. 

253 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"'Cause!"  vouchsafed  Davy,  "jest  'cause. 
v  That's  why.  Fetch  me  a  bite  in  the  lamp, 
Janet,  'long  'bout  sundown.  I  ain't  comin' 
down,  once  I  go  up  this  afternoon.  I  ain't 
lookin'  fur  trouble.  'T  ain't  my  way,  but 
somehow,  when  such  a  night  as  this  is  like  t' 
be  settles  down,  it  don't  seem  anythin'  more'n 
friendly  fur  me  t'  bear  the  Light  company." 

So  Janet  cleared  the  dinner  away;  she  found 
little  tasks  to  fill  the  darkening  hours,  and  with 
eagerness  prepared  the  tray  for  Davy  and  took 
it  aloft  at  sundown.  By  that  time  the  wind 
was  almost  a  hurricane;  and  before  it  were 
driven  sharp  sheets  of  snow  that  cut  and 
sounded  as  they  sped  madly  landward.  The 
tower  swayed  perceptibly.  Davy's  face  was 
grimly  careworn,  and  his  manner  forbade  so- 
ciability. 

Janet  waited  a  few  moments;  then,  realizing 
Davy's  mood,  left  the  tray  and  went  below. 
But  now  a  trembling  and  inward  terror  possessed 
her.  She  tried  to  shake  off  the  feeling  with 
contempt  for  her  folly.  She  sang,  remembering 
Davy's  philosophy,  "When  ye  sing  ye  open  the 
safety  valve  fur  more  to  get  out  than  words 
an'  music."  But  this  song  gave  relief  only  to 
sound  and  mental  action. 

Early  night  came  with  eagerness,  as  if,  for 

254 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

the  doing  of  what  was  to  be  done,  the  black 
pall  was  alone  appropriate. 

"Why,  any  one  would  think,"  —  Janet  stood 
by  the  window  and  her  teeth  chattered  as  she 
spoke,  —  "  any  one  would  think  I  was  that  white 
girl  at  Bluff  Head  instead  of  Cap'n  Billy's  girl. 
I  afraid  of  a  storm!  I,  housed  and  safe  at  the 
Light!  I,  who,  in  many  such  a  gale,  trotted 
after  Cap'n  Billy  just  for  pure  fun.  It's  time 
I  went  on  and  got  the  dune  tonic  for  my  foolish 
nerves.     Me  with  nerves!" 

Then  she  ran  to  the  door  and  opened  it 
slowly,  pushing  against  it  to  stay  the  wind. 

"I  thought!"  she  moaned,  "I  thought  I 
heard  a  call!"  The  memory  of  the  night  that 
poor  Maud  Grace  went  down  beyond  the  Point 
added  keenness  to  her  fancy.  "It  sounded 
like  that  call.  Ah!  as  long  as  I  live  I  shall 
remember  it.  I  do  believe  it  was  Maud.  I 
always  shall,  no  matter  what  they  say/' 

The  howling  of  the  wind  drowned  the  girl's 
words,  but  her  strained  face  pressed  against 
the  opening  and  her  senses  were  alert.  "  I  hear 
it!"  she  panted,  "I  hear  that  call!  Suppose, 
oh!  suppose  that  it  is  my  Cap'n  Billy  calling? 
If  he  were  on  the  patrol  and  in  danger,  he 
would  call  to  me.  He  would  know  I  could  not 
hear,  but  he  would  call,  just  for  comfort!" 

255 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Again  the  burdened  wind  shrieked  outside. 
The  face  at  the  door  grew  ghastly  and  the  eyes 
terror-filled. 

"There  are  more  ways  of  hearing  than  one!', 
she  muttered.     "Cap'n  Daddy,  I  am  coming!" 

Who  was  there  to  stay  her  with  word  of 
caution  ?  Who  was  there  to  control  her  as  she 
made  ready  to  answer  the  heart-call  of  her 
beloved  Billy  ? 

Now  that  doubt  had  fled,  a  calmness  possessed 
her.  She  was  indifferent.  First  she  wrote  a 
note  to  Davy  and  placed  it,  open  and  conspicu- 
ous, beside  his  plate;  she  had  laid  the  break- 
fast table  half  an  hour  before. 

"I've  gone  to  Billy.  Took  my  ice  boat." 
That  was  all,  but  Davy  would  understand. 
Then  she  wrapped  herself  warmly,  covering 
all  with  an  oiler  and  pulling  a  sou'wester  well 
down  over  her  ears.  Finally  she  extinguished 
the  lamp,  let  herself  out  of  the  door,  and  ran, 
in  the  face  of  the  gale,  to  the  dock.  There 
she  paused. 

"  I  'd  have  to  tack  miles  off  my  course,"  she 
muttered,  "  I  had  forgotten  the  direction  of  the 
wind."  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  take  to 
the  ice,  and  walk  and  run  as  she  could!  It 
was  an  awful  undertaking,  but  the  girl  did  not 
pause.     The  call  for  help  came  only  when  she 

256 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

hesitated;  while  she  acted  her  nerves  were  calm. 
So,  with  head  bent  forward  and  low,  Janet  set 
out  for  the  dunes. 

Once  she  looked  back  at  Davy's  Light. 
Through  the  scurrying  snow  and  sleet  it  shone 
steadily  and  hopefully,  unaffected  by  the  wind 
and  fury  that  waged  war  outside. 

"It  is  like  a  thought  of  God!"  she  whispered, 
and  her  courage  rose. 

Only  a  dune-bred  girl  could  have  withstood 
the  force  of  the  storm,  but  by  pausing  for 
breath  now  and  again,  by  sliding  and  gaining 
strength  walking  backward,  she  made  fair 
progress,  and,  guided  by  the  Light,  headed  for 
the  halfway  house.  In  that  she  would  wait 
and  hide.  If  it  were  Billy's  patrol,  she  would 
be  there  to  see  him!  If  not?  Well,  time 
enough  for  future  plans!  She  knew  Billy 
would  disapprove  her  action,  but  she  must 
know! 

Once  the  dunes  were  gained,  their  landward 
side  was  sheltered.  Janet  sat  down  in  the  long 
grass  to  rest  before  ascending.  The  snow  cut 
her  face  and  the  thunder  of  the  waves  deafened 
her.  After  a  few  minutes  she  started  on. 
Davy's  Light  was  straight  behind  her,  so  the 
halfway  house  lay  directly  before.  On,  on  in 
the  dark  and  noise!     She  felt  her  way  with 

257 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

hands  outstretched  in  front  of  her.  At  the 
dune  top,  the  real  magnitude  of  the  storm  was 
apparent.  On  the  mainland  it  was  com- 
paratively mild.  Here  wind,  tide,  and  heavy 
sea  were  let  loose  and  were  battling  in  ferocious 
freedom. 

"Ah!"  Janet  caught  her  breath  and  stag- 
gered back,  clutching  the  tall,  dry,  ice-covered 
grass  to  steady  herself;  but  a  few  more  steps 
brought  her  rudely  against  the  shelter  house. 
She  pushed  the  door  open.  Neither  man  had 
as  yet  arrived,  so  there  was  no  fire  lighted  in 
the  little  stove.  Janet  began  to  gather  the 
wood  and  coal  together  in  her  stiff  fingers;  but 
something  stayed  her.  She  felt  ill  and  weak. 
So  instead,  she  crawled  under  the  bench  that 
ran  across  the  side  of  the  tiny  hut  and  hid  in  the 
darkness.  She  began  to  fear  Billy's  displeas- 
ure. For  a  moment  the  faintness  and  nausea 
made  cold  and  weariness  sink  into  oblivion, 
and  before  they  reasserted  themselves  the  door 
was  opened  and  some  one  came  in. 

The  dense  darkness  hid  him,  and  Janet 
waited.  The  man  struck  a  match  and  hur- 
riedly started  the  fire.  By  the  sudden  blaze 
she  saw  that  it  was  Ai  Trueman,  one  of  the 
crew  from  the  farther  station.  Once  the  fire 
was  kindled  and  burning,  the  man  sat  down  in 

258 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

the  corner  of  the  bench  directly  over  Janet's 
hiding  place  and  shook  his  sou'wester  free 
of  the  ice  and  snow  that  had  collected  upon  it. 
It  was  not  long  before  the  door  opened  again. 
The  fire  was  ruddily  lighting  the  shed  by  this 
time,  and  Janet,  from  her  cramped  position,  saw 
Billy.  Something  in  his  appearance  made  her 
catch  her  breath  in  alarm.  It  was  not  his  ice- 
covered  garments  that  glistened  in  the  red  light 
nor  his  grim,  rigid  face,  but  the  strange  stare  of 
his  wide-opened  eyes  that  caused  her  alarm. 

"Bad  night,"  said  Ai,  "but  we've  made  good 
time."  Billy  had  dropped  upon  the  opposite 
bench,  and  the  ice  crackled  upon  his  gar- 
ments. 

"Petered  out  some?"  Ai  now  looked  at 
Billy.    "Ye  look  kind  o'  done  fur." 

"Take  my  check  out  o'  my  pocket,  left-hand 
one," — Billy's  voice  sounded  far  off  and  thin, — 
"an'  put  yours  in.  My  hands  is  bit.  The  lids 
of  my  eyes  got  froze  down  on  my  cheeks  an'  I 
could  n't  see,  so  I  thawed  'em  out  by  holdin' 
my  hands  up,  an'  —  an'  my  hands  caught  it!" 

Janet  dared  not  move. 

Ai  exchanged  checks,  and  then  he  bent  over 
Billy. 

"Ye  all  right?"  he  asked  doubtfully. 

"Sure."     Billy  tried  to  laugh,  but  his  voice 

259 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

shook.  "A  frostbite  don't  count  none.  I'm 
thawed  out  enough  now  fur  my  own  comfort. 
I  dar  n't  take  my  eye  off  the  bar.  I  tell  youy 
Ai,  if  there's  trouble  t '-night,  it's  goin'  t'  be  real 
trouble." 

"  'T  is  that!"  said  Ai,  and  the  two  men  stood 
up. 

"Good  night,  Ai." 

"Good  night,  Billy,  an'  let's  hope  fur  a  safe 
walk  back." 

They  were  gone!  Then  Janet  came  from 
her  hiding.  Her  sickness  had  passed;  she  was 
warmer  and  more  comfortable,  but  she  meant 
to  keep  close  to  Billy  on  that  return  patrol! 
If  all  went  well,  he  would  forgive  her  by  and  by. 
She  was  on  the  point  of  pushing  the  door  open, 
when  suddenly  the  full  blast  of  the  gale  struck 
her  in  the  face.  Some  one  was  coming  back. 
It  was  Billy  and  he  stood  before  her.  Her 
face  was  away  from  the  light,  and  her  sou'- 
wester, drawn  close,  misled  Billy;  but  Janet 
saw  his  eyes  wide  and  staring. 

"Ai,"  he  panted,  and  his  voice  was  thick, 
"I  —  I  can't  do  it !  The  —  the  works  are 
runnin'  down  agin.  It's  better  t'  tell  ye  than 
t'  drop  out  there  on  the  sand,  an'  no  one  ever 
know.  Huny  back,  man,  an'  watch  both 
ways  as  long  as  ye  can." 

260 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Billy  swayed  forward  and  Janet  caught  him. 
She  laid  him  upon  the  floor  and  bent  above 
him. 

"My  Cap'n!"  she  moaned,  "oh!  Cap'n 
Billy S"  But  Billy  heeded  her  not.  "He's 
dead!"  The  horror- filled  words  startled  even 
the  speaker.  "Dead!  my  Billy !"  But  no,  he 
breathed!  "I  must  do  his  work,  and  get  help!" 
the  girl  started  up  wildly.  "He  isn't  dead! 
He  shall  not  die!"  She  took  his  check  from 
his  pocket,  and  his  Coston  light.  Then  she 
gently  moved  him  nearer  the  stove,  put  coal 
on  the  blaze,  and  loosened  the  heavy  coat. 
"Now!"  she  muttered,  and  rushed  out  into 
the  night  and  storm.  The  strength  of  ten 
seemed  to  possess  her;  and  the  calmness  of 
desperation  lent  her  power. 

The  noise  of  the  wind  deadened  the  sound 
of  the  surf.  Sometimes  she  found  herself  knee 
deep  in  icy  water,  —  for  the  tide  was  terribly 
high.  Then  she  crawled  up  to  the  dunes  and 
felt  with  mittened  hands  for  the  stiff  grass. 
Presently  she  came  to  a  rock,  a  rare  thing  on 
that  coast,  and  she  clung  to  it  desperately.  It 
was  as  true  a  landmark  to  the  girl  of  the  Station 
as  a  mountain  peak  would  have  been  to  an 
inland  traveller. 

"Only  a  mile  more!"  she  panted,  and  then 

261 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

a  memory  of  one'of  Davy's  old  hymns  came  to 
her: 

** The  shadow  of  a  mighty  rock  within  a  weary  land" 

She  recalled  how  she,  as  a  little  child,  had 
often  crouched  beside  this  very  rock  when  the 
summer's  sun  beat  hot  upon  the  sand.  Sum- 
mer! Was  there  ever  such  a  thing  as  summer 
on  this  ice-bound  shore  ?  She  dreaded  to  set 
forth  again.  A  stupor  was  creeping  over  her, 
a  stupor  she  had  been  trained  to  fear.  She 
struggled  to  her  feet,  but  the  mad  thought  of 
summer  would  cling  to  her  benumbed  fancy. 
It  fascinated  and  lured  her  dangerously.  She 
saw  the  Hills  rise,  many  colored,  in  the  black- 
ness. She  saw  Thornly's  little  hut  with  its 
door  set  open  to  the  cool,  refreshing  breeze. 
It  was  a  breeze  then,  this  fierce,  cruel  wind.  It 
was  a  gentle  breeze  when  summer  and  love 
held  part!  She  heard  again  the  call  of  the 
golden  whistle;  and  this  fancy  made  her  draw 
her  breath  in  sharp  gasps.  She  shut  her  stiff 
lids  and  saw  Thornly  coming  over  the  sun- 
lighted  Hills  with  his  joy-filled  face,  shining 
in  the  summer  day! 

Oh!  if  she  could  but  hear  that  golden  call 
just  once  again  how  happy  she  would  be! 
Maybe,  when    death    came,    God    would    let 

262 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Thornly  call  her  in  that  way,  just  as  God  had 
let  Susan  Jane's  lover  come  to  her  upon  the 
shining,  incoming  wave! 

But  then  Thornly  was  not  her  lover;  she  was 
his  and  that  was  different! 

"Death!"  Again  the  girl  struggled  forward, 
She  must  not  die!  Why,  Billy  was  there  alone, 
in  the  halfway  house  —  and  Billy's  duty  was 
still  unperformed. 

On,  on  once  again!  The  wind  was  blowing 
in  gusts  now.  It  was  reckoning  with  the  near- 
coming  day  and  was  lessening  in  fury.  But 
the  sudden  blasts  were  almost  worse  than  the 
steady  gale.  Janet,  weakened  and  numb,  was 
hardly  upon  her  way,  before  she  was  knocked 
from  her  feet  by  the  cruel  force  and  lay,  face 
downward,  upon  the  icy  sand!  Hurt  and  dis- 
couraged, she  yet  managed  to  rise.  The  pain 
roused  her  dulled  senses  and  in  the  lull  that 
followed  a  strange  ghostly  sound  was  borne 
seaward.  She  stopped  and  stood  upright. 
Again  it  came,  plaintively  and  persistently, 
rising  and  falling.  As  if  the  faint  note  had 
power  over  night  and  tempest,  the  blackness 
seemed  to  break;  the  snow  ceased,  and  over- 
head, through  a  riven  cloud,  a  pale,  fright- 
ened moon  peered  curiously.  Then  the  wind 
shrieked    defiantly.     But   again   it   came,   that 

263 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

tender,  penetrating  call,  nearer,  nearer,  over 
the  dunes,  and  down  toward  the  thundering 
sea! 

Still,  as  if  frozen  where  she  stood,  Janet 
waited  for  —  she  knew  not  what!  Some  one, 
in  the  dim,  grayish  light,  was  coming  toward 
her,  some  one  tall  and  strong,  but  well-nigh 
spent!    The  man  had  seen  her,  too. 

"How far  am  I  from  the  Station  ?"  he  shouted. 

It  was  Thornly's  voice!  It  was  the  little 
whistle's  call  that  had  stilled  the  storm,  and 
brought  hope! 

Janet  could  not  answer,  All  power  seemed 
gone  from  her.  When  he  came  close  he 
would  know  her  and  then  —  why,  why  had  he 
come  ? 

The  girl  had  forgotten  her  disfiguring  gar- 
ments. Thornly  was  within  a  foot  of  her  before 
he  understood.  Then  he  reeled  back.  The 
moon,  for  another  still  moment,  shone  full 
upon  the  ice-covered  figure  and  the  upturned 
face  framed  by  the  old  sou'wester. 

"My  God!"  he  cried  and  stretched  out  his 
arms,  hardly  knowing  whether  he  were  ward- 
ing oflF  an  apparition  or  reaching  out  to  the 
woman  he  was  seeking  so  earnestly. 

"You!"    he    whispered,    "you!     Alone    out 

here    in    all    the    storm    and    darkness!"     She 

% 

264 


1 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

tried  to  answer,  but  words  failed  her.  She 
smiled  pitifully  and  put  her  hands  in  his. 

"I  have  wandered  for  hours!"  Thornly  was 
holding  the  girl  closer.  "Do  you  hear  and 
understand,  Janet  ?  I  went  to  the  Light.  I 
saw  your  note  lying  open  on  the  table;  I  was 
afraid  for  you!  I  lost  my  way  on  the  ice.  I 
had  only  Davy's  Light  to  guide  me;  I  landed, 
heaven  only  knows  where!  But  I  wanted  you! 
I've  got  you  at  last!"  A  fierceness  shook  the 
eager  voice,  that  was  raised  above  the  noises  of 
the  night. 

"Yes!"  Janet  spoke  low  and  dreamily;  again 
the  cold  stilled  her  pain.  The  moon  was 
hidden  and  grim  darkness  held  them.  "You 
—  you  want  —  me  —  to  —  help  you  finish  — 
your  picture!" 

It  really  was  a  small  matter;  but  even  in  the 
strangeness  and  numbness  the  girl  wished  he 
had  not  come.  He  was  greater  and  dearer 
when  he  had  stayed  away  and  sacrificed  his 
picture  for  her  honor,  and  his  own. 

"My  picture?  Good  Lord!  What  do  I 
care  for  my  picture  ?  Child,  I  want  you.  Oh! 
I  want  you  to  help  me  to  finish  my  life!" 
Thornly  shook  the  girl  gently.  She  was  in  his 
arms.  She  was  leaning  against  him  heavily, 
her  icy  garment   striking  harshly  against   his. 

265 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

How  he  blessed  his  great  strength  that  terrible 
night!  He  reasoned  that  Janet  had  crossed 
the  bay  as  he  had,  bent  upon  some  errand  at 
the  Station.  He  had  overtaken  her  in  time, 
thank  God!  for  her  strength  was  fast  failing. 

"I  must  carry  you!"  he  cried,  but  his  words 
were  drowned  in  the  wind's  howling.  "Here, 
I  have  my  flask.  Drink,  Janet!  Drink,  dear, 
it  will  give  you  new  life.  We  must  make  the 
Station  together." 

Janet  swallowed  painfully,  but  the  liquor 
brought  relief.  Clinging  to  Thornly,  she  went 
silently  on.  Between  the  last  two  dune  tops, 
Davy's  Light  again  shone. 

"Only  a  half  mile  more!"  panted  the  girl. 
Thornly  knew  the  value  of  making  the  most 
of  what  they  had,  and  without  speaking  he 
pressed  forward,  holding  her  close.  Suddenly 
Janet  stopped  and  pointed  stiffly  seaward. 

"The  bar!"  she  groaned.      "See!  a  rocket!" 

Thornly  strained  his  eyes. 

"Another!"  the  girlish  voice  was  tense  and 
hoarse.  "They  are  on  the  outer  bar.  God 
help  them!  Here,  get  the  Coston  out.  Strike 
a  light!  My  hands  are  stiff.  Oh!  it  rises! 
They  answer!  They  know  we  have  seen  them. 
Poor  souls!     Come,  we  must  run!" 

And  she,  who  but  a  moment  before  was  half 

266 


'They  're  on  the  outer  bar  I    Two  rockets  !     I've  answered  !  ' '' 

Page  267 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

dead  from  cold  and  exposure,  now  ran  as  if 
sand  and  heavy,  icy  clothing  had  no  power  to 
stay  her. 

Thornly,  filled  with  terror  at  this  new  de- 
velopment and  fearing  that  the  girl  beside  him 
would  not  be  able  to  reach  the  Station,  seized 
her  more  firmly  and  rushed  forward. 

"Oh!  the  Station!  Do  not  lift  me;  I  can 
make  it  now!"  Thornly  did  not  relinquish  his 
hold,  and  together  they  flung  themselves  against 
the  heavy  doors  of  the  little  house. 

The  light  and  warmth  were  in  their  faces. 
A  ring  of  startled  men  stood  before  them. 

"  They  're  on  the  outer  bar!  Two  rockets! 
I've  answered!"  The  words  came  in  hard, 
quick  breaths,  and  Janet  swayed  forward.  It 
was  Thornly  who  bore  her  to  a  chair  most 
distant  from  the  red-hot  stove.  The  men  had 
vanished  like  spectres.  There  was  a  hurried 
noise  in  the  further  room,  as  the  big  cart,  bearing 
the  apparatus,  was  pushed  into  the  night  and 
storm. 

"Opposite  Davy's  Light  between  the  last 
two  dunes!"  called  Janet. 

"All  right!"  Some  one  replied  from  beyond, 
then  a  stillness  followed.  Thornly  stood  guard 
over  the  girl  as  she  sat  helplessly  in  the  wooden 
chair.     The  ice  was  melting  and  dripping  from 

267 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

her  clothing;  the  sou'wester  had  fallen  away 
from  the  sweet,  worn  face,  and  the  pretty 
cheeks  showed  two  ominous  white  spots  that 
bespoke  frozen  flesh. 

"  I  dare  not  take  you  nearer  the  fire ! "  Thorn- 
ly's  voice  was  unsteady.  His  own  returning  cir- 
culation and  consequent  pain  made  him  cruelly 
conscious  of  what  he  knew  she  was  suffering. 

She  looked  up  bravely  and  smiled.  "It's 
pretty  bad,"  she  said  with  a  quiver.  "  It  hurts, 
doesn't  it?"  Then  noticing  for  the  first  time 
that  Thornly  was  less  protected  than  she,  for 
he  wore  only  his  heavy  overcoat,  which  was 
crusted  thick  with  ice,  she  forgot  her  own  agony 
in  genuine  alarm. 

"Take  off  those  frozen  things!"  she  com- 
manded; "you  must  be  drenched  through  and 
through  without  an  oiler»  Make  yourself  com- 
fortable.    I  must  go!" 

"Go!  In  heaven's  name,  go  where?" 
Thornly  paused  as  he  was  taking  off  his  cap, 
over  which  he  had  tied  a  silk  muffler,  and 
stared  at  the  girl. 

"Why,  to  Cap'n  Billy,  You  do  not  under- 
stand. He  is  back  in  the  halfway  house.  He 
may  be  dead!"  A  shiver  ran  over  Janet,  and 
she  struggled  to  her  feet.  "It  is  awful  for  me 
to  sit  here!     You  know  nothing.     I  must  go!" 

268 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Thornly  firmly  held  her  back. 

"His  check,"  she  faltered,  "take  it  out  of 
my  pocket,  please.  No,  the  left-hand  pocket. 
That's  it.  Hang  it  there  on  the  rack  by  the 
door.     I  may  not  return,  you  know."    . 

"There's  no  time  for  explanations,  Janet." 
Thornly  had  followed  the  girl's  directions  me- 
chanically, and  now  urged  her  back  in  the 
chair.  "Of  course  I  will  not  let  you  go,  but 
I  am  going  to  Cap'n  Billy.  Whatever  can  be 
done,  I  will  do.  I  will  bring  him  on  here,  or 
I  will  stay  with  him  there  until  help  reaches  us; 
but  you  must  obey  what  I  say  and  wait  for  us. 
You  must  trust  me." 

She  looked  up  at  him  tear  blinded  and  pitiful. 

"Let  me  go  with  you,"  she  pleaded.  "I 
am  used  to  it,  and  after  all  —  what  matters 
now?" 

Thornly  seized  an  oilskin  coat  from  a  peg 
on  the  wall,  and  thrust  his  arms  into  it. 

"What  matters  ?"  he  stopped  to  ask,  looking 
at  Janet  with  a  puzzled  stare.  "Why,  don't 
you  know,  little  girl,  that  this  is  the  beginning 
of  everything  for  us  ?  Can't  you  understand  ?" 
Over  his  anxiety  and  excitement  a  sense  of 
joy  flooded.  "Here!"  he  cried,  trying  to  cheer 
her,  "it's  going  to  be  all  right  with  Cap'n  Billy 
and  every  one  else.     Give  me  that  rear  decked 

269 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

boat  you  have  on  your  head,  Janet,  and  you'll 
promise  to  stay  here  until  I  return  ? " 

He  bent  over  her  and  drew  the  icy  mittens 
from  the  stiff,  little  hands;  then  he  raised  the 
cold  fingers  to  his  lips,  and  looked  into  the  depths 
of  the  upturned  eyes.  He  had  gone  through 
his  doubts  and  struggles  since  he  had  left  her 
on  the  Hills;  she,  poor  girl,  had  long  ago  re- 
linquished her  hope  and  love,  but  as  she  gazed 
now  into  the  eyes  bent  above  her  she  under- 
stood ! 

It  was  the  climax  of  their  young  lives.  What- 
ever lay  beyond  they  could  not  know.  What- 
ever forces  had  driven  them  into  this  sanctuary 
they  neither  of  them  sought  to  question.  It 
might  be  their  only  moment. 

"I  will  wait,"  Janet  whispered,  clinging  to 
him,  "I  will  wait  for  you  —  and  Cap'n  Daddy!" 

After  Thornly  was  gone  the  unreality  passed. 
The  howling  of  the  gale,  and  the  memories  that 
flooded  the  present  loneliness,  drove  the  sudden 
dream  before  them.  While  she  stood  housed 
and  protected  all  that  was  dear  to  her,  all  that 
meant  life  to  her,  was  out  there  in  the  storm! 

Cap'n  Billy  dying,  perhaps  dead,  three  miles 
beyond ! 

The  crew  manfully  doing  their  duty  by  the 
men  on  the  outer  bar! 

270 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Thornly,  struggling  to  perform  a  task  that 
might  be  beyond  his  strength;  while  she,  amid 
the  danger  and  storm,  stood  idle! 

"Why!"  she  cried,  "this  is  as  bad  as  that 
drowsiness  out  on  the  shore.  I  must  do  some- 
thing! I  had  no  right  to  promise!"  She  ran 
to  the  window  and  tore  aside  the  little  curtain. 
Her  heavy  coat  fell  from  her,  and  with  it  seemed 
to  drop  the  weight  and  burden  that  had  op- 
pressed her.  The  sluggishness  of  mind  and 
body  was  gone.  She  was  herself  again!  "No 
promise  must  hold  me  from  my  Cap'n  Daddy!" 
she  whispered  in  a  soft  defiance. 

Just  then  the  darting  lanterns  of  the  crew,  far 
down  the  beach,  attracted  her.  And  through 
the  grim,  grayish  light  of  the  dying  night  shone 
Davy's  Light,  faithful  and  strong. 

She  stood  surrounded  by  courageous  duty. 
Her  life  lesson  had  been  one  long  training  for 
duty.     Was  she  to  fail  now  ? 

But  what  was  her  duty  ?  Slowly  a  radiance 
spread  from  brow  to  chin.  The  livid  spots  on 
^either  cheek  smarted  into  consciousness  at  the 
rush  of  blood  that  bore  surrender  with  it. 
Above  even  Billy's  claim  to  her  faithfulness 
was  her  promise  to  Thornly!  There  was  one 
greater,  now,  in  her  life  than  Cap'n  Billy. 

"And    he    has    undertaken  my  task!"     She 

271 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

pressed  her  burning  cheek  to  the  frosted  glass. 
"I  will  trust  him,  and  he  shall  trust  me!" 

So  while  Davy  tended  his  Light,  while  the 
crew  gave  heart  of  hope  to  the  wretched  men 
upon  the  outer  bar,  while  Thornly  in  the  dark 
and  storm  struggled  onward  to  the  doing  of  a 
duty  he  had  taken  upon  himself,  Janet  made 
ready  for  what  might  lie  before. 

She  ran  to  the  loft  above  and  carried  down 
cots  and  blankets.  She  heated  kettles  of  water 
and  fed  the  huge  stove  until  it  blazed  and 
roared;  then  she  brought  from  the  Captain's 
room  the  medicine  chest  and  the  liquor  that 
were  kept  for  emergencies. 

Still  no  one  came!  Janet  gave  herself  no 
time  for  idle  thought,  nor  did  she  permit  her 
fevered  fancy  to  run  free.  There  was  still 
something  to  do!  She  must  provide  for  them 
who  were  risking  their  lives  for  others.  She 
made  strong  coffee,  and  cut  slices  of  bread 
from  the  massive  loaves.  Then  suddenly,  like 
a  flash  of  humor  in  the  tortured  loneliness,  she 
remembered  Jared  Brown's  liking  for  tomatoes 
and  set  forth  a  large  can.  The  homely  tasks 
were  steadying  the  strained  nerves,  but  every 
time  the  wind  rattled  the  doors  the  girl  started. 

The  hours  dragged  on.  The  gale  began  to 
sob    spasmodically    as    the    day   conquered    it. 

272 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

The  grayish  light  outside  brightened  —  what 
was  that  ? 

The  shed  door  was  opening!  The  panting 
wind  tore  the  kitchen  door  wide,  and  Janet  saw 
three  men  advancing!  She  tried  to  run  to 
them,  but  the  body  refused  to  respond  to  the 
eager  will.  She  could  not  anticipate  a  knowl- 
edge that  might  mean  so  much! 

Thornly  and  Ai  Trueman  came  into  the 
glow  of  the  hot  kitchen,  and  between  them  they 
dragged  Cap'n  Billy!  Janet  saw  that  he  was 
alive,  and  when  he  realized  that  it  was  she 
who  stood  before  him,  the  old,  comforting 
smile  struggled  to  the  poor,  worn  face. 

"Don't  take  on!"  he  panted  as  they  placed 
him  upon  the  nearest  cot  and  began  to  strip 
his  icy  clothing  from  him;  "this  ain't  what  ye 
might  call  anythin'  at  all!" 

Janet  knelt  beside  him.  "My  Cap'n!"  was 
all  she  could  say;  "my  own, dear  Cap'n  Daddy!" 

"Ye  little  —  specimint!"  Billy  closed  his 
eyes  luxuriously.  "They  've  told  me  what 
ye've  done!" 

"I  found  him  in  the  halfway  house,"  Ai 
explained  while  Thornly  mixed  a  hot  drink  for 
Billy.  "You  see,  I  was  nearly  back  t'  the 
Station  when  I  saw  that  signal  frum  the  bar. 
My  crew  had  seen  it,  too,  an*  they  come  racin' 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

down  as  I  was  makin'  fur  them.  On  the  way 
back  I  noticed  the  door  o'  the  shelter  open  an* 
a  tearin'  fire  lightin'  up  the  place.  I  stopped  t* 
see  that  all  was  safe,  an'  there  on  the  floor,  actin' 
like  all  possessed,  was  Billy!  He  was  fur  goin' 
with  the  men,  but  he  could  n't  stand  on  his 
legs.  It  was  somethin'  fierce  the  way  he  took 
on.  I  sort  o'  hauled  him  up  an'  swore  I'd  get 
him  down  t'  the  shore  somehow,  when  this 
gentleman,"  Ai  waved  one  of  Billy's  boots, 
which  he  had  just  managed  to  get  off,  toward 
Thornly,  "come  in  an'  he  kind  o'  took  com- 
mand, as  you  might  say,  an'  ordered  us  on  t' 
this  here  port." 

Janet  was  pressing  her  face  against  the 
weary  one  upon  the  pillow,  and  murmuring 
over  and  over  in  a  gentle  lullaby,  "My  Cap'n, 
my  Cap'n!"  Thornly  came  over  to  the  cot 
and  raised  Billy  to  feed  him  the  drink.  Billy 
looked  up  and  smiled  feebly. 

"If  I  ain't  needed  here,"  Ai  said,  "I'll  take 
a  haul  o'  coffee  an'  then  fetch  some  down  t' 
the  men."     Janet  started. 

"Oh!  I  forgot,"  she  cried;  "what  about  the 
wreck  ?" 

"The  tide's  turnin',"  Ai  replied  from  the 
depths  of  a  bowl  of  coffee.  "Like  as  not  the 
ship  will  lift  by  mornin'!     More  frightened  than 

274 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

hurt  anyway,  I  guess.  They've  signalled  us  tf 
stand  by  till  daybreak,  but  I'm  thinkin'  they'll 
hist  before  then!" 

When  Ai  had  gone  Thornly  put  the  cup 
down,  and  placed  Billy  back  on  the  pillows. 
The  heavy  eyes  opened  and  fell  upon  the  two 
faces  near.  Then  a  puzzled  expression  settled 
in  the  kindly  gaze. 

"Ye've  got  yer  chart  t'  sail  by,  my  gal,"  he 
whispered,  going  back  in  memory  to  that  night 
when  he  had  told  Janet  of  her  mother.  "I 
ain't  goin'  t'  worry  any  more!" 

The  words  trailed  off  into  unconsciousness, 
and  Cap'n  Billy  swung  at  anchor  between  this 
port  and  that  beyond. 


275 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  SOUTHWEST  wind  howled  around  the 
little  hut  upon  the  Hills.  The  sea- 
son was  in  one  of  its  humorous  moods, 
for  the  day  was  almost  summer-like  in  spite  of 
the  wind's  noisy  insistence.  Between  the  tops 
of  the  highest  dunes  the  white  crested  heads  of 
the  waves  could  be  seen  at  times;  and  the 
deep,  solemn  tones  announced  that  there  was 
"a  heavy  sea  on." 

The  nearer  water  of  the  bay,  in  imitation 
of  its  mighty  neighbor,  echoed  in  mildest  tones 
its  restlessness,  and  tossed  its  feathery  foam 
high  upon  the  pebbly  beach. 

Thornly  had  found  the  first  May  pinks  by 
the  roadside  that  morning,  and  Mark  Tapkins 
had  mentioned,  in  passing,  that  Cap'n  'Billy 
was  soon  coming  off.  By  these  signs,  and  the 
singing  in  his  heart,  he  knew  the  spring  had 
come. 

He  was  sitting  before  the  easel  upon  which 
rested  "The  Pimpernel,"  finished  at  last! 

The  work  had  been  his  salvation  through  the 

276 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

long  weeks  of  waiting  since  that  night  upon  the 
beach.  Alternately  exulting  and  despairing, 
he  had  painted  in  a  frenzy  born  of  starved 
desire  and  memory-haunted  love. 

Only  once  had  he  seen  Janet  alone  since  that 
eventful  night,  for  Billy's  dangerous  illness 
claimed  her  every  thought  and  hour.  But  that 
once,  while  Davy  sat  beside  his  friend,  she  had 
walked  with  Thornly  upon  the  sands  and 
had  told  him  her  life  story.  Very  simply  she 
had  spoken,  watching,  meanwhile,  the  effect 
upon  her  listener.  He  had  been  startled  and 
shaken  by  the  recital,  and  for  a  time  Janet 
had  misunderstood  him. 

"You  must  go  away  and  think  it  over,"  she 
had  said;  "I  am  not  the  same  girl,  you  see!" 

"Great  heavens,  Janet!"  Thornly  had  ex- 
claimed when  once  he  recovered  from  his 
surprise.  "Do  you  think  anything  can  make 
a  difference  now  ?  Why,  you  are  dearer  a 
thousand  times  in  ways  you  cannot  realize,  for 
I  know  Mr.  Devant  better  than  you  do,  and  I 
am  glad  for  him." 

Janet  shook  her  head.  "Cap'n  Billy  must 
never  know,"  she  whispered.  "There  may 
never  be  a  chance,  but  in  any  case  he  shall 
never  have  that  hurt." 

"It   would    be    an    added    joy,    little   girl," 

277 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Thornly    insisted,    but    Janet    would  not  con- 
sider it. 

"So  please  go  now,"  she  had  pleaded  finally. 
"Go  and  think  and  think.     Perhaps  by  and  by 
—  who  can  tell  ?     Just  now  it  must  be  only  my 
Cap'n  Daddy." 

Thus  with  the  courage  and  patience  of  her 
nature  the  girl  had  set  aside  her  own  love  and 
yearning;  and  Thornly  took  to  the  Hills  and 
the  unfinished  picture  of  "The  Pimpernel." 

The  glorious  face  upon  the  canvas  changed 
and  assumed  character  according  as  the  mas- 
ter's mood  swayed  him. 

One  day  it  would  shine  forth  with  the  sweet 
questioning  of  joyous  girlhood.  Then  Thornly, 
remembering  how  the  question  had  been  an- 
swered on  a  certain  summer  day  when  ignorance 
died  and  knowledge  was  born,  wiped  away  the 
expression  while  his  heart  grew  heavy  within 
him. 

Then  he  would  paint  her  as  he  recalled  her 
on  that  black  night  upon  the  beach  when,  her 
uplifted  face  touched  by  the  fleeting  rays  of  the 
white  moon,  she  had  asked  him  if  he  needed 
her  to  help  him  finish  his  picture. 

No!  no!  He  could  not  paint  her  so.  That 
was  no  face  for  a  flower  wreath  —  and  the 
flowers  he  must  have! 

278 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

Again  he  painted  her  as  he  had  last  seen  her. 
The  love  light  shining  in  her  eyes  while  cour- 
ageously she  put  her  joy  from  her  until  her 
duty  to  Billy  was  ended,  and  her  lover  had  had 
time  to  think. 

Thornly  had  thought!  Never  in  his  life  had 
he  thought  so  deeply  and  intensely,  and  from 
out  the  thought  and  love  the  soul  of  Janet  had 
evolved  and  become  fixed  upon  the  canvas. 
"It  is  a  masterpiece !"  cried  the  artist  in  the 
man,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  glorious  face. 

"It  is  my  woman!"  responded  the  man  in 
the  artist.  "My  Spirit  of  the  dunes  with  the 
strength  of  the  Hills  and  the  mystery  of  the  sea." 

A  sudden  knock  shattered  the  ecstasy. 
"Come!"  called  Thornly  and  turned  to  meet 
his  guest.  Mark  Tapkins  awkwardly  entered. 
Mark  had  been  a  great  resource  to  Thornly 
lately.  Unconsciously  he  had  been  a  link 
between  Janet  and  the  Hills.  In  his  slow,  dull 
fashion  he  repeated  all  he  saw  and  heard  at  the 
Station,  and  Thornly,  trusting  to  Tapkins's 
uncomprehending  manner,  sent  messages  to 
the  dunes  that  he  knew  Janet's  keener  wit 
would  interpret  and  understand.  But  Thornly 
had  still  something  to  learn  about  Tapkins. 

"Any  news  this  morning?"  he  said  cheerily, 
pushing  a  stool  toward  Mark. 

279 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"She's  come  off,"  said  Tapkins  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  "The  Pimpernel. " 

"Is  already  off?"  Thornly's  color  rose. 
"You  know  you  said  they  were  coming  soon." 

"They've  come!  Her  an'  Billy  is  down  t' 
Davy's." 

"And  Billy,  how  is  he  ?"  asked  Thornly. 

"Middlin'.  But  he  ain't  complainin'  none. 
Say,  Mr.  Thornly,  I  don't  know  as  you  under- 
stand why  I've  been  runnin'  here  so  much 
lately  ?  You  see  I  wanted,  so  t'  speak,  t'  git 
the  lay  o'  the  land  'twixt  you  an'  —  her!" 

Tapkins  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  vivid  face, 
only  by  its  inspiration  could  he  hold  to  his 
purpose. 

"Have  you  got  it,  Tapkins  ?"  Thornly  bent 
closer  and  gazed  at  his  visitor  keenly. 

"I  seem  t'  sense  it,"  was  the  low  reply. 
"Travel  an'  city  ways,  Mr.  Thornly,  make 
men  understand  each  other."  The  old  foolish 
conceit  added  dignity  to  the  evident  purpose 
with  which  Mark  was  struggling.  "Now, 
over  t'  the  Station  the  crew  think  you're  a 
'vestigator!" 

So  they  had  been  talking  him  over,  those 
quiet,  apparently  unobservant  men! 

"What  do  they  think  I'm  investigating, 
Tapkins?"     Thornly's    gaze    contracted,    and 

280 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

he  clasped  his  hands  rigidly  around  his  knees. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  before  a  bar  of  justice  and 
he  must  weigh  the  evidence  against  himself. 

"The  sand  bar,"  Mark  replied.  "Every 
once  so  often  some  fellers  come  down  here  with 
a  fool  notion  o'  cuttin'  down  the  sand  bar,  an* 
dredge  deep  enough  to  make  a  inlet  int'  the 
bay." 

"Perhaps  they  may,  some  day,  Tapkins." 
Thornly  felt  that  along  this  line  he  might  sooner 
reach  his  friend's  purpose  in  calling  for  the 
second  time  that  day.  "It's  not  a  bad  idea, 
you  know.  It  would  sweeten  the  waters  of  the 
bay,  carry  off  the  stagnant  growth  and  let  in 
a  lot  of  new  life.  But  you  do  not  think  I'm  an 
investigator,  eh,  Mark?" 

Tapkins  turned  suddenly  and  faced  his  host. 

"Not  that  kind,  Mr.  Thornly,"  he  said,  in  a 
tone  that  brought,  again,  the  color  to  Thornly's 
face.  "An'  what's  more,"  Tapkins  continued, 
"I  don't  think  same  as  you  do  'bout  the  inlet, 
nuther,  Mr.  Thornly.  Nater  is  pretty  much 
alike  in  sand  bars,  an'  folks,  an'  what  not! 
God  Almighty  knows  what  He's  about  when  He 
piles  up  them  dunes  what  divides  ocean  an' 
bay;  an'  folks  an'  folks!" 

"Go  on,  Tapkins!"  This  was  worthy  of 
Cap'n  Davy.     The  sojourn  at  the  Light  had 

281 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

had  its  influence  upon  the  assistant  keeper. 
Mark  gulped  and  turned  his  gaze  upon  the 
picture. 

"  'T  ain't  no  good  tryin'  t'  mix  things,  Mr. 
Thornly.  That's  what  the  crew  tells  them 
fellers  'bout  the  bar.  They  don't  listen  none. 
They  work  like  beavers,  an'  we  hold  off*  an' 
have  our  laugh.  Then  they  go  away  real 
pleased  after  they've  cut  through,  but  nation! 
't  ain't  any  time  't  all  'fore  the  sand 's  piled  up 
agin.     It's  awful  foolish  workin'  agin  Nater." 

"Just  what  kind  of  an  investigator  do  you 
take  me  for,  Tapkins  ?"  Thornly  felt  he  must 
know  the  worst,  and  at  once.  The  look  Mark 
cast  upon  him  was  full  of  trouble.  He  did  not 
want  to  wrong  this  man  he  had  grown  to  like, 
but  a  sense  of  duty  lashed  him  on. 

"The  Lord  knows,  Mr.  Thornly,"  he  faltered, 
"I  don't  want  t'  make  any  mistakes.  It's 
tumble  confusin'  when  you  try  t'  label  folks. 
The  same  acts  mean  different  'cordin'  t'  the 
handlin',  an'  a  good  man  an'  a  bad  man  bear 
a  powerful  likeness  t'  each  other  on  the  out- 
side, sometimes.  Once  I  did  n't  speak  out  t' 
a  friend  when  I  ought  t',  an'  —  an',  well,  there 
was,  what  you  might  say,  a  wreck!  I  ain't 
goin'  t'  hold  back  another  time.  Mr.  Thornly, 
you're  stayin'  on  down  here,  'cause  you  have 

282 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

some  sort  o'  idee  o'  openin'  up  a  inlet  'twixt 
sich  folks  as  you  an'  Mr.  Devant  an'  —  her!" 
Mark  waved  his  cap  toward  the  easel.  "  'T  ain't 
no  use,  Mr.  Thornly,  s'pose  you  did  cut  through 
an'  clean  an'  honest,  too,  don't  you  see  a  little 
craft  like  that  one  could  n't  sail  out  int'  deep 
waters  ?  an'  the  Lord  knows,  big  craft  like  you 
an'  him  would  get  stranded  in  no  time  down 
here.  Folks  is  separated  fur  a  good  reason. 
'T  ain't  a  question  o'  one  bein'  better  nor  the 
other,"  Tapkins  raised  his  head  proudly,  "it's 
jest  a  case  o'  difference.  Cuttin'  down  barriers 
ain't  goin'  t'  do  nothin'  but  cause  waste  o'  time 
in  buildin'  'em  up  agin." 

Never  before  in  his  life  had  Mark  spoken  so 
eloquently  nor  so  lengthily. 

A  dimness  rose  in  Thornly's  eyes,  and  a 
respect  for  the  awkward  fellow  grew  in  his 
heart.  He  arose  and  stood  before  Tapkins, 
his  hand  resting  protectingly  upon  "The  Pim- 
pernel. " 

"You're  one  of  the  best  fellows  I've  ever 
met,  old  man!"  he  said,  "and  you've  lived 
pretty  deep;  but  there  is  another  point  of  view 
about  those  sand  bars  of  yours.  There  is 
going  to  be  an  inlet  all  right,  some  day,  over  on 
the  dunes!  When  that  time  comes,  beside 
sweetening  the  waters  of  the  bay  and  doing  all 

283 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

the  rest,  something  else  is  going  to  happen  and 
don't  you  forget  it!  Craft  from  outside  will 
come  in  and  not  get  stranded,  either;  and  what's 
more,  some  craft  of  yours  that  is  stronger  and 
better  fitted  than  you  know  of  is  going  to  sail 
out  into  the  open,  test  its  strength  and  not  get 
wrecked!  Sand  bars  are  for  nothing  in  the 
world,  Tapkins,  but  for  conquering.  Take 
my  word  for  that.  It  all  depends  upon  who 
tackles  the  job  of  the  inlet,  see  ?" 

Mark  got  upon  his  feet  and  took  the  hand 
that  was  suddenly  stretched  out  to  meet  his. 
Thornly  held  the  poor  fellow's  tear-filled  eyes 
by  the  radiance  of  his  own. 

"We  understand  each  other,  old  man/'  he 
continued.  "I  am  going,  please  God,  to  cut 
through  a  barrier  that  has  no  right  to  exist. 
I'm  going  to  let  as  brave  and  trusty  a  little 
craft  as  ever  sailed  go  out  into  the  broad  waters 
where  she  belongs.  Do  you  catch  on,  Tap- 
kins?" 

"I  do  that!"  murmured  Mark,  and  he 
dropped  Thornly's  hand.  "I'll  watch  out, 
Mr.  Thornly.  It's  my  way  t'  watch,  an'  I'm 
learnin'  one  thing  over  an'  over.  In  this  life 
there's  plenty  t'  learn  if  you've  got  —  power!" 

Mark  had  done  his  duty  and  departed. 
Thornly  watched  him  from  the  open  door  until 

284 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

he  shambled  from  sight.  Then  a  new  doubt 
arose.  While  he  had  waited  alone  upon  the 
Hills,  working  and  loving  without  distrust  of 
the  future,  they,  these  patient  conservatives  of 
Quinton,  had  discussed  him  from  every  point 
of  view  and  were  ready  when  he  pressed  his 
claim  to  judge  him. 

How  different  from  his  old  world  was  this 
one  of  the  dunes!  What  different  standards 
existed  from  those  which  swayed  Katharine 
Ogden  and  her  kind!  Unless  he  met  their 
demands,  he  could  mean  nothing  to  them. 
How  far  had  time  and  discussion  influenced 
Janet  ?  Might  she  not  fear  to  try  the  larger 
life  with  him;  she  who  had,  without  a  quiver, 
discarded  Devant  with  his  claims  and  yearn- 
ings ? 

For  a  moment  the  day  seemed  chilly  and  the 
sky  darker.  But  Thornly  was  not  one  to  hold 
back  when  even  the  slightest  hope  beckoned. 
He  would  not  wait  for  her  to  call  him,  he  would 
go  to  her! 

He  closed  the  door  and  strode  down  the 
sandy  road.  He  passed  the  new  inn  at  the 
foot  of  the  Hills,  and  returned  the  salute  that 
Pa  Tapkins  waved  to  him  with  a  kettle  from  the 
kitchen  window.  As  he  neared  the  bay  the  salt 
smell  of  the  water  seemed  to  give  him  strength. 

285 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

There  was  James  B.'s  little  boat  at  his  wharf 
and  Eliza  Jane  in  the  doorway  of  the  low,  vine- 
covered  house. 

"You  jest  better  be  goin'  on!"  she  called  to 
James  B.,  who  was  loitering  on  the  village  side 
of  the  garden. 

"I  ain't  more'n  jest  come  off!"  James  B. 
answered.  "I  ain't  any  more'n  had  time  t' 
swaller  my  dinner." 

"Well,  what  more  do  you  want?"  snapped 
his  wife.  "You  go  on  now,  an'  do  what  I  tell 
you.  An'  there  ain't  no  use  t'  turn  the  P'int 
t'  the  village,  nuther.  I  kin  see  your  sail  till 
you  reach  the  Station,  an'  if  you  don't  go 
straight  on,  I  kin  reach  the  village  store  'fore 
you  kin.     So  't  ain't  no  use,  James  B." 

James  B.  evidently  agreed  with  her,  for  he 
turned  and  went  disconsolately  toward  the  wharf. 

Thornly  smiled  and  his  old  cheerfulness 
returned.  He  was  seeing  these  people,  slowly, 
through  Janet's  eyes.  They  were  so  brave, 
patient,  and  humorous.  They  were  so  human 
and  faulty  and  lovable.  Among  them  she, 
poor  little  wayfarer,  had  got  her  life  lesson  — 
how  would  she  apply  it  now  ? 

Before  him  rose  Davy's  Light,  its  glistening 
head  ready  for  duty  when  the  night  should 
come.     Some  one  was  waving  from  the  bal- 

286 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

cony  up  aloft!  Some  one  had  been  watching 
the  road  from  the  Hills!  Thornly's  heart  beat 
quicker.    Was  it  Davy  ? 

Just  then  the  playful  wind  caught  the  loos- 
ened, ruddy  hair  of  the  watcher  above,  and 
Thornly  hastened  his  steps. 

The  rooms  of  the  lighthouse  were  empty, 
and  silence  brooded  over  all.  Thornly  mounted 
the  winding  stairs  and,  as  if  Davy's  personality 
pervaded  the  way,  his  heart  lightened  per- 
ceptibly at  each  landing.  In  the  little  room 
below  the  lamp,  Janet  met  him. 

"We're  freshening  up,"  she  said  with  the  old 
half-shy  laugh,  "Davy,  Cap'n  Daddy,  and  I. 
Come!" 

Thornly  stretched  out  his  hands  toward  her. 

"Janet!"  he  whispered.  "One  moment, 
little  girl!"  She  turned  a  full  look  upon  him. 
A  look  of  love,  of  question,  of  joy! 

"Not  yet.  Come!"  she  repeated,  and  paused 
at  the  foot  of  the  steps  for  him  to  join  her. 

On  the  sheltered  side  of  the  tower,  in  an 
easy-chair,  sat  Cap'n  Billy.  Davy  was  hover- 
ing over  him,  good-naturedly  scolding  him  for 
the  exertion  he  had  made  in  getting  to  the 
balcony. 

"The  next  time,  Billy,  that  ye  take  it  in  t' 
yer  head  t*  come  up  here,  by  gum!  I'm  goin' 

287 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

t'  hist  ye  up  from  the  outside,  same  as  if  ye  war 
ile!  How  are  ye,  Mr.  Thornly?"  he  cried, 
turning  quickly.  "Take  a  seat  on  the  railin\ 
'T  ain't  what  ye  might  call  soft  an'  yieldin', 
but  there's  plenty  of  it,  there  bein'  no  beginnin' 
or  endin'."  He  laughed  and  sighed  in  quite 
the  old  way.  Billy's  sickness  had  brought  back 
the  sigh. 

Thornly  bent  over  Billy  in  greeting,  and  then 
seated  himself  where  he  could  look  into  all 
three  faces.  Janet  sank  upon  a  stool  at  Cap'n 
Billy's  feet. 

"You  know  why  I  have  waited,  Cap'n  Billy, 
for  this  day?"  he  said. 

He  could  not  resort  to  lesser  means,  when 
simple  directness  would  be  better  understood. 
Davy  plunged  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and 
clutched  the  courage  that  was  supposed  to  lie 
there  along  with  the  pipe  and  tobacco. 

Cap'n  Billy  with  quaint  dignity  put  his  thin, 
brown  hand  upon  Janet's  bowed  head,  and 
answered  in  kind. 

"I  do  that,  Mr.  Thornly.  Out  there  on  the 
beach  arter  I  come  in  t'  consciousness,  I  done 
a  heap  o'  thinkin',  an'  t'-day  I  told  Davy  I 
knowed  ye  would  come,  an'  I  wanted  t'  freshen 
up  on  the  balcony  'fore  we  talked  over  the 
present  and  —  the  past!" 

288 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

"Can't  we  let  the  past  go,  Cap'n  ?"  Thornly 
asked  gently,  "You  know  it  can  never  matter 
to  me.  The  future  is  all  that  I  want."  Billy 
shook  his  head. 

"Them's  good  heartsome  words i"  Davy 
broke  in,  tugging  energetically  at  his  pockets. 
"An*  spoke  like  a  man,  by  gum!  Let  well 
enough  alone,  Billy.  You  an*  Janet  is  goin'  t' 
stay  right  on  at  the  Light,  an*  we'll  start  in 
fresh  from  now!"  When  had  Davy  been  a 
coward  before?  But  Billy's  "works"  might 
take  to  running  down  again,  and  that  fear 
quelled  Davy's  daring.  But  again  Billy  shook 
his  head. 

"'Course  the  government  ain't  goin'  t'  take 
on  an  old  feller  like  me,"  he  said,  "'specially 
when  he  has  t'  be  towed  in  himself  when  he's 
most  needed  t'  lend  a  hand;  an'  I  ain't  above 
takin'  a  place  in  the  Light,  Davy,  when  I  pull 
myself  up  sufficient,  but  I  want  once  an'  fur  all 
t'  clar  the  air  'bout  Janet."  His  troubled  eyes 
looked  pleadingly  across  the  sunny  bay  toward 
the  Station  that  had  been  his  resting  place  and 
home  for  so  long. 

"The  old  see  mighty  clar,  Mr.  Thornly," 
he  said,  turning  his  gaze  to  the  present.  "An' 
as  ye  git  near  port  it's  amazin'  how  the  big 
things,  the  real  things,  hold  yer  thoughts  an* 

289 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

longin's.  I  ain't  done  my  whole  duty  by  my 
little  gal,  an'  the  fact  shadders  my  days." 

"Don't  say  that,  Cap'n  Daddy!"  Janet 
pressed  closer  to  him.  "You  have  done  your 
own  duty  and  the  duty  of  the  whole  world  by 
me!" 

"That's  like  ye,  Janet,  t'  say  them  words; 
but  ye  don't  know  all!  That's  whar  I've 
wronged  ye." 

Davy  saw  that  he  must  take  a  hand  in  what 
was  going  on.  It  would  ease  Billy  and  spare 
Janet. 

"We've  got,  so  t'  speak,"  he  commenced 
with  grim  determination,  "t'  open  up  the  grave 
of  the  Past."  He  was  always  poetical  when 
emotion  swayed  him.  "Ye  see,  Mr.  Thornly, 
t'  put  it  plain  an'  square,  me  an'  Billy  knows 
that  ye  have  some  idee  o'  Janet,  an'  Billy  ain't 
goin'  t'  let  ye  take  her  under  no  false  pretences. 
As  t'  givin'  our  consent  t'  ye  payin'  yer  respects, 
so  t'  speak,  t'  Janet,  me  an'  Billy  don't  know, 
'cordin  t'  law,  as  we  have  any  right  fur  givin' 
or  holdin'  our  consent.  An'  now  ye  have  it 
straight  an'  fair!" 

"Thank  you,  Cap'n  Davy,"  Thornly  replied, 
"but,  I  repeat,  the  past  can  never  mean  any- 
thing to  me." 

"But  ye  see,  Mr.  Thornly,"  Billy  clung  to 

290 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

his  purpose,  "this  girl,  properly  speaking 
don't  b'long  t'  me.  She  drifted  in  t'  port  early, 
an'  from,  as  ye  may  say,  a  wreck;  I  kept  her, 
an'  loved  her,  God  knows,  as  if  she  war  my 
own.     But  she  ain't!" 

This  confession  brought  the  beads  of  per- 
spiration to  Billy's  brow,  but  Thornly's  un- 
moved expression  calmed  him. 

"My  Cap'n  Daddy!"  Janet  turned  her 
face  to  the  agitated  one  above  her.  "I've  told 
Mr.  Thornly  this  already,  and  he  does  not 
care!" 

Billy  drew  a  long,  relieved  sigh. 

"I  only  want  Janet,"  Thornly  hastened  to 
say.  "Whether  she  belongs  rightfully  to  you 
or  not,  Cap'n  Billy,  you  have  trained  her  into 
exactly  the  kind  of  woman  I  would  have  her!" 

"That's  the  kind  o'  talk!"  ejaculated  Davy, 
and  he  drew  out  his  pipe,  lighted  it  and  in- 
wardly gave  thanks  that  they  had  all  passed  the 
bar  so  successfully. 

"But  that  ain't  enough!"  Billy  insisted, 
shattering  Davy's  calm.  "I  knowed  who  Ja- 
net's mother  was,  but  I  never  knowed  her 
father.  I  never  tried  t'  find  out.  I  alius  war 
afraid  I  would  somehow,  an'  that's  what's 
clutchin'  me  now.  I  ain't  acted  wise  or  square. 
It  comes  t'  me  lately  when  I  look  at  Janet,  an' 

291 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

see  how  much  she  favors  some  one  what  I  don't 
know,  that  I  ain't  only  cheated  her,  but  I've 
cheated  some  man  out  o'  his  own,  no  matter 
how  ye  look  at  it.  She  might  'a'  been  the  means, 
so  t'  speak,  o'  bringin'  him  t'  grace;  an*  times 
is  when  I  've  wondered  if  Janet  won't  blame  me 
some  day." 

"Never!  never!  my  own  Cap'n  Daddy!" 
Janet  reassured  him,  but  her  eyes  were  troubled. 
An  old  doubt  rose  to  take  sides  with  Billy  against 
her  own  determination. 

"That's  what  ye  say,  not  knowin',  my  girl." 
Poor  Billy's  wrinkled  face  twitched.  "If  yer 
true  father  be  among  the  livin',  an'  sufferin' 
has  eaten  int'  his  soul,  then  don't  ye  see,  I've 
stood  'twixt  him  an'  his  chance  of  somewhat 
undoin'  a  bitter  wrong  ?  It  ain't  no  light 
matter  t'  take  the  settlin'  o'  things  out  o'  God 
Almighty's  hand.  I  wish  I'd  hunted  him  up! 
Twas  my  plain  duty  t'  have  done  that,  I  see 
it  now.  I  wish  I'd  given  my  gal  the  choice 
'tween  him  an'  me!  It's  a  growin'  trouble  as 
time  passes."  The  slow  tears  were  rolling 
down  Billy's  suffering  face.  Janet  had  no 
comfort  for  him  now.  In  her  ignorance  she 
had  pushed  aside  her  chance  to  give  him  what 
his  honest  soul  had  longed  for.  Recalling 
Mr.  Devant's  words,  she  bowed  her  head  upon 

292 


JANET  CfF  THE  DUNES 

Billy's  knee  in  contrition,  and  pressed  her  lips 
against  his  work-worn  hand. 

Thornly  stepped  beside  the  crouching  girl 
and  laid  a  firm  hand  upon  Billy's  shoulder. 
He  must  give  no  shock,  but  his  time  had  come 
to  take  another  duty  of  Janet's  upon  himself. 

"Cap'n  Billy,"  he  said  slowly,  and  Davy 
eyed  him  closely,  "  I  know  Janet's  —  other 
father!" 

The  sun  crept  around  the  tall  tower.  The 
wind  fell  into  a  lull  after  its  day  of  play.  A 
silence  held  the  little  group  for  a  moment,  and 
then  Thornly  went  on: 

"He  has  suffered  a  lifetime  of  remorse.  He 
is  a  lonely,  sad  man." 

"Ye  hear  that,  Janet?"  whispered  Billy 
hoarsely,  but  his  yearning  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  little  house  across  the  bay. 

"Yes,  my  Cap'n,  I  hear,"  came  in  muffled 
tones. 

How  much  the  dear  voice  sounded  like  that 
one  which  years  ago  had  so  named  him! 

"  An',  God  willin',  ye  kin  have  a  choice,  my 
girl,  even  now!  I  ain't  goin'  t'  stand  'twixt  ye 
an'  a  open  course.  Ye've  got  his  blood  as  well 
as  hers!  Ye  must  choose  yerself,  Janet,  an* 
do  it  just  an'  honest  like  I've  tried  t'  show  ye 
how!" 

293 


JANET  OF  THrL  DUNES 

"Cap'n  Billy," — Thornly  pressed  the  thin 
shoulder  firmer,  the  real  test  was  coming  now, 
— "our  little  girl  has  had  her  chance.  She 
knows  her  father;  he  came  and  offered  her  a 
life  of  luxury  and  pleasure  —  and  she  chose 
you!" 

"Gawd!"  burst  from  Davy,  and  his  pipe  lay 
shattered  upon  the  floor. 

Billy  breathed  quicker,  but  the  habit  of  a 
lifetime  helped  him  bear  this  crowning  bliss. 
To  such  as  he  it  sometimes  happens  that  an 
inner  sense  prepares  the  soul  for  its  mounts  of 
vision.  In  the  silence  that  followed,  Billy 
struggled  in  memory  from  that  long-ago  time 
when  his  love  was  young,  to  this  hour  when  he 
was  to  know! 

"An*  he  —  is?"  He  spoke  waveringly  like 
a  child  feeling  out-  into  the  darkness  for  an 
object  he  knows  is  there.  Thornly  waited  for 
what  his  love  trusted. 

"Mr.  Devant,  my  Cap'n  Daddy!"  The 
answer  was  in  Janet's  voice. 

"I  —  I  sort  o'  sensed  it!"  whispered  Billy. 
"An*  ye  chose  me  when  ye  had  sich  a  chance  ?" 
Wonder  thrilled  through  the  question.  Was  he 
to  know  more  joy  ? 

"Yes,  my  own  Daddy.  I  chose  you  because 
I  loved  you !     I  never  even  wanted  you  to  know. 

294 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

But  Mr.  Thornly  knew  you  better  than  I. 
You  are  nobler  than  I  thought." 

"An'  ye  loved  me  like  that?"  A  shining 
joy  broke  over  Billy's  face,  a  joy  that  drove 
pain  and  remorse  before  it.  "Do  ye  hear 
that,  Davy  ?  An'  ye  once  said  God  could  n't 
pay  me  fur  what  I  done!  Why,  man,  God 
paid  me  all  along  the  way,  an'  now  He's  added 
more'n  I  ever  earned!"  The  weak  voice  rose 
rapturously*  "Mr.  Thornly,  I  want  that  ye 
should  send  fur  Mr.  Devant.  I  ain't  goin'  t' 
prove  unworthy  o'  the  Lord's  trust  in  me!" 

"Daddy!  Daddy!"  broke  from  Janet.  Billy 
stayed  her  with  a  look. 

"No,  my  gal.  This  ain't  no  matter  fur  ye! 
This  be  man's  work!" 

"Right  you  are,  Cap'n!"  Thornly  grasped 
the  old  hand.  Davy  drew  near  and  looked  upon 
his  friend  as  if  he  were  seeing  him  for  the  first 
time  in  years. 

"By  gum!"  he  said.  "An'  that's  what  has 
been  draggin'  on  ye  all  these  years!  Why,  Billy, 
you  an'  me  is  goin'  t'  take  a  new  lease  o'  life!" 

"We  are  that!"  nodded  Billy.  Then  he 
turned  to  Thornly. 

"I  ain't  never  goin'  t'  doubt  a  man  like  you, 
Mr.  Thornly,"  he  said,  "but  ye  see  I  could  only 
train   Janet  one  way,  havin',  as  ye  know,  no 

295 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

other  'sperience.  I  ain't  use  t'  sich  waters  as 
ye  sail,  an'  Janet  ain't  much  wiser.  I'm 
thinkin',"  he  paused  and  tried  to  see  his  way, 
"I'm  thinkin',  Mr.  Devant  might  help  ye  on 
this  tack.  Sort  o*  steer  this  little  craft,  so  t' 
speak,  till  it's  able  to  keep  upright." 

Quietly  the  girl  by  Billy's  knee  arose.  She 
stood  just  where  the  westering  sun  touched  her 
with  a  golden  glow0  Thornly  drew  his  lips  in 
sharply  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  even  Billy  and 
Davy  were  awed  by  what  they  in  no  wise  com- 
prehended. 

"Daddy  dear,"  said  the  sweet  voice,  "I  am 
going  to  be  very  fond  of  Mr.  De  —  of  my  father, 
by  and  by.  We  are  going  to  be  great  friends, 
I  know,  and  that  will  make  you  glad.  But  I 
must  always  be  your  girl!  I  am  not  afraid  to 
sail  out  upon  the  broad  middle  ocean.  I  used 
to  tell  Davy  that  I  longed  to  go;  but  I  want  no 
other  help  than  your  chart,  my  Cap'n,  and 
my  Davy's  Light!"  Her  lifted  eyes  were  tear- 
filled  as  they  rested  in  turn  upon  the  two  rugged 
faces.  Then  she  looked  at  Thornly  and  her 
tears  were  dried  as  desire  grew  to  trust  and 
perfect  understanding;  he  opened  his  arms  to 
her  and  she  came  to  him  gladly. 

"And  my  love,  my  Pimpernel!"  he  whispered 
as  his  lips  pressed  the  soft,  ruddy  hair. 

296 


JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 

The  birds  twittered  among  the  nooks  and 
corners  of  Davy's  Light.  The  bay  sparkled, 
and  across  the  dunes  the  ocean's  voice  spoke 
m  the  deep  cadences  of  a  mighty  organ's  tone. 

"An  there  was  glory  over  all  the  land,"  Davy 
chanted  as  he  turned  to  his  evening  duty.  "A 
flood  o9  glory.'9 


297 


STORIES    OF    RARE    CHARM    BY 

GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 


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THE  HARVESTER  ~~ 
Illustrated  by  W.  L.  Jacobs 

"The  Harvester,"  David  Langston,  is 
a  man  of  the  woods  and  fields,  who  draws 
his  living  from  the  prodigal  hand  of  Mother 
Nature  herself.  If  the  book  had  nothing  in 
it  but  the  splendid  figure  of  this  man,  with 
his  sure  grip  on  life,  his  superb  optimism, 
and  his  almost  miraculous  knowledge  of 
nature  secrets,  it  would  be  notable.  But 
when  the  Girl  comes  to  his  "Medicine 
Woods,"  and  the  Harvester's  whole  sound, 
healthy,  large  outdoor  being  realizes  that 
this  is  the  highest  point  of  life  which  has 
come  to  him  —  there  begins  a  romance, 
troubled  and  interrupted,  yet  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 

FRECKLES.       Decorations  by  E.  Stetson  Crawford 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  in 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  in  the 
great  Limberlost  Swamp;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
him  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality;  and  his  love- 
story  with  "The  Angel"  are  full  of  real  sentiment. 

A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST. 

Illustrated  by  Wladyslaw  T.  Brenda. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods;  a  buoyant,  lovable 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
kindness  towards  all  things;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed.  And  by  the 
sheer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  from 
barren  and  unpromising  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage. 

It  is  an  inspiring  story  of  a  life  worth  while  and  the  lich  beauties 
of  the  out-of-doors  are  strewn  through  all  its  pages. 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW. 

Illustrations  in  colors  by  Oliver  Kemp.    Design  and  decorations  by 
Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour. 

The  scene  of  this  charming,  idyllic  love  story  is  laid  in  Central 
Indiana.  The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self- 
sacrificing  love;  the  friendship  that  gives  freely  without  return,  and 
the  love  that  seeks  first  the  happiness  of  the  object.  The  novel  is 
brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of  nature,  and  its  pathos 
and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 

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JOHN  FOX,  JR'S. 

STORIES   OF  THE   KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 


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THE  TRAIL    OF  THE    LONESOME   PINE. 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  "lonesome  pine"  from  which  the 
story  takes  its  name  was  a  tall  tree  that 
stood  in  solitary  splendor  on  a  mountain 
top.  The  fame  of  the  pine  lured  a  young 
engineer  through  Kentucky  to  catch  the 
trail,  and  when  he  finally  climbed  to  its 
shelter  he  found  not  only  the  pine  but  the 
f cot-prints  of  a  girl.  And  the  girl  proved 
to  be  lovely,  piquant,  and  the  trail  of 
these  girlish  foot-prints  led  the  young 
engineer  a  madder  chase  than  "the  trail 
of  the  lonesome  pine." 

LITTLE    SHEPHERD    OF    KINGDOM     COME 

Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  is  a  story  of  Kentucky,  in  a  settlement  known  as  "King- 
dom Come."  It  is  a  life  rude,  semi-barbarcus;  but  natural 
and  honest,  from  which  often  springs  the  flower  of  civilization. 

"  Chad."  the  "little  shepherd"  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor 
whence  he  came — he  had  just  wandered  from  door  to  door  since 
early  childhood,  seeking  shelter  with  kindly  mountaineers  who 
gladly  fathered  and  mothered  this  waif  about  whom  there  was 
such  a  mystery — a  charming  waif,  by  the  way,  who  could  play 
the  banjo  better  that  anyone  else  in  the  mountains. 

A  KNIGHT   OF  THE    CUMBERLAND. 

Illustrated   by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  scenes  are  laid  along  the  waters  of  the  Cumberland* 
the  lair  of  moonshiner  and  feudsman.  The  knight  is  a  moon- 
shiner's son,  and  the  heroine  a  beautiful  girl  perversely  chris- 
tened "The  Blight."  Two  impetuous  young  Southerners'  fall 
under  the  spell  of  "The  Blight's  "  charms  and  she  learns  what 
a  large  part  jealousy  and  pistols  have  in  the  love  making  of  the 
mountaineers. 

Included  in  this  volume  is  "  Hell  fer-Sartain"  and  othe* 
stories,  some  of  Mr.  Fox's  most  entertaining  Cumberland  valley 
narratives. 

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MYRTLE    REED'S   NOVELS 

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LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE. 

A  charming  story  of  a  quaint  corner  of 
New  England  where  bygone  romance  finds  a 
modern  parallel.  The  story  centers  round 
the  coming  of  love  to  the  young  people  on 
the  staff  of  a  newspaper — and  it  is  one  of  the 
prettiest,  sweetest  and  quaintest  of  old  fash- 
ioned love  stories,  *  *  *  a  rare  book,  ex- 
quisite in  spirit  and  conception,  full  of 
delicate  fancy,  of  tenderness,  of  delightful 
humor  and  spontaniety. 

A  SPINNER  IN  THE  SUN. 

Miss  Myrtle  Reed  may  always  be  depended  upon  to  write  a  story 
in  which  poetry,  charm,  tenderness  and  humor  are  combined  into  a 
clever  and  entertaining  book.  Her  characters  are  delightful  and  she 
always  displays  a  quaint  humor  of  expression  and  a  quiet  feeling  of 
pathos  which  give  a  touch  of  active  realism  to  all  her  writings.  In 
"A  Spinner  in  the  Sun"  she  tells  an  old-fashioned  love  story,  of  a 
veiled  lady  who  lives  in  solitude  and  whose  features  her  neighbors 
have  never  seen.  There  is  a  mystery  at  the  heart  of  the  book  that 
throws  over  it  the  glamour  of  romance. 

THE    MASTER'S    VIOLIN, 

A  love  story  in  a  musical  atmosphere.  A  picturesque,  old  Ger- 
man virtuoso  is  the  reverent  possessor  of  a  genuine  "Cremona."  He 
consents  to  take  for  his  pupil  a  handsome  youth  who  proves  to  have 
an  aptitude  for  technique,  but  not  the  soul  of  an  artist.  The  youth 
has  led  the  happy,  careless  life  of  a  modern,  well-to-do  young  Amer- 
ican and  he  cannot,  with  his  meagre  past,  express  the  love,  the  passion 
and  the  tragedies  of  life  and  all  its  happy  phases  as  can  the  master 
wno  has  lived  life  in  all  its  fulness.  But  a  girl  comes  into  his  life— a 
beautiful  bit  of  human  driftwood  that  his  aunt  had  taken  into  her 
heart  and  home,  and  through  his  passionate  love  for  her,  he  learns 
the  lessons  that  life  has  to  give— and  his  soul  awakes. 

Founded  on  a  fact  that  all  artists  realize. 

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The  Master's  Violin 

By  MYRTLE  REED 

A  Love  Story' with  a  musical  at« 
mosphere.  A  picturesque,  old 
German  virtuoso  is  the  rever* 
ent  possessor  of  a  genuine  Cre- 
mona. He  consents  to  take  as 
his  pupil  a  handsome  youth  who 
proves  to  have  an  aptitude  for 
technique,  but  not  the  soul  of 
the  artist.  The  youth  has  led  the 
happy,  careless  life  of  a  modern, 
well-to-do  young  American,  and 
he  cannot,  with  his  meagre  past, 
express  the  love,  the  longing,  the  passion  and  the  trage- 
dies of  life  and  its  happy  phases  as  can  the  master  who 
has  lived  life  in  all  its  fulness.  But  a  girl  comes  into 
his  existence,  a  beautiful  bit  of  human  driftwood  that 
his  aunt  had  taken  into  her  heart  and  home ;  and  through 
his  passionate  love  for  her,  he  learns  the  lessons  that  life 
has  to  give — and  his  soul  awakens. 

Founded  on  a  fact  well  known  among  artists,  but  not 
often  recognized  or  discussed.* 


If  you  have  not  read  "Lavender  and  Old  Lace"  by  the 
same  author,  you  have  a  double  pleasure  in  store — for 
these  two  books  show  Myrtle  Reed  in  her  most  delightful, 
fascinating  vein — indeed  they  may  be  considered  as  mas- 
terpieces of  compelling  interest. 

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GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


The  Prodigal  Judge 


By  VAUGHAN  KESTER 

This  freat  novel — probably  the  most  popular  book  m; 
this  country  to-day — is  as  human  as  a  story  from  the  pen 
of  that  great  master  of  "  immortal  laughter  and  immortal 
tears,"  Charles  Dickens. 

The  Prodigal  Judge  is  a  shabby  outcast,  a  tavern  hang- 
er-on, a  genial  wayfarer  who  tarries  longest  where  the  inn 
is  most  hospitable,  yet  with  that  suavity,  that  distinctive 
politeness  and  that  saving  grace  of  humor  peculiar  to  the 
American  man.  He  has  his  own  code  of  morals — very 
exalted  ones — but  honors  them  in  the  breach  rather  than 
in  the  observance. 

Clinging  to  the  Judge  closer  than  a  brother,  is  Solomon 
Mahaffy — fallible  and  failing  like  the  rest  of  us,  but  with 
a  sublime  capacity  for  friendship;  and  closer  still,  perhaps, 
clings  little  Hannibal,  a  boy  about  whose  parentage 
nothing  is  known  until  the  end  of  the  story.  Hannibal 
is  charmed  into  tolerance  of  the  Judge's  picturesque 
vices,  while  Miss  Betty,  lovely  and  capricious,  is  charmed 
into  placing  all  her  affairs,  both  material  arid  sentimental, 
in  the  hands  of  this  delightful  old  vagabond. 

The  Judge  will  be  a  fixed  star  in  the  firmament  of 
fictional  characters  as  surely  as  David  Harum  or  Col. 
Sellers.  He  is  a  source  of  infinite  delight,  while  this  story 
(Of  Mr.  Kester's  is  one  of  the  finest  examples  of  Ameri- 
can literary  craftmanship. 

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GROSSET&  DUNLAP'S 

DRAMATIZED    NOVELS 

THE   KIND    THAT   ARE    MAKING   THEATRICAL    HISTORY 
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WITHIN  THE  LAW.     By  Bayard  Veiller  &  Marvin  Dana. 
Illustrated  by  Wm.  Charles  Cooke. 

This  is  a  novelization  of  the  immensely  successful  play  which  ran 
for  two  years  in  New  York  and  Chicago. 

The  plot  of  this  powerful  novel  is  of  a  young  woman's  revenge 
directed  against  her  employer  who  allowed  her  to  be  sent  to  prison 
for  three  years  on  a  charge  of  theft,  of  which  she  was  innocent. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  MARY.     By  Robert  Carlton  Brown. 
Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

This  is  a  narrative  of  a  young  and  innocent  country  girl  who  is 
suddenly  thrown  into  the  very  heart  of  New  York,  "the  land  of  her 
dreams,    where  she  is  exposed  to  all  sorts  of  temptations  and  dangers. 

The  story  of  Mary  is  being  told  in  moving  pictures  and  played  in 
theatres  all  over  the  world. 

THE  RETURN  OF  PETER  GRIMM.      By  David  Belasco. 
Illustrated  by  John  Rae, 

This  is  a  novelization  of  the  popular  play  in  which  David  War, 
field,  as  Old  Peter  Grimm,  scored  such  a  remarkable  success. 

The  story  is  spectacular   and  extremely    pathetic  but  withal, 
powerful,  both  as  a  book  and  as  a  play. 
THE  GARDEN  OF  ALLAH.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

This  novel  is  an  intense,  glowing  epic  of  the  great  desert,  sunlit 
barbaric,  with  its  marvelous  atmosphere  of  vastness  and  loneliness. 

It  is  a  book  of  rapturous  beauty,  vivid  in  word  painting.    The  play 
has  been  staged  with  magnificent  cast  and  gorgeous  properties. 
BEN    HUR.    A  Tale  of  the  Christ.    By  General  Lew  Wallace. 

The  whole  world  has  placed  this  famous  Religious-Historical  Ro- 
mance on  a  height  of  pre-eminence  which  no  other  novel  of  its  time 
has  reached.  The  clashing  of  rivalry  and  the  deepest  human  passions, 
the  perfect  reproduction  of  brilliant  Roman  life,  and  the  tense,  fierce 
atmosphere  of  the  arena  have  kept  their  deep  fascination.  A  tre- 
mendous dramatic  success. 

BOUGHT  AND  PAID  FOR.     By  George  Broadhurst  and  Arthur 
Hornblow.  Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 

A  stupendous  arraignment  of  modern  marriage  which  has  created 
an  interest  on  the  stage  that  is  almost  unparalleled.  The  scenes  are  laid 
in  New  York,  and  deal  with  conditions  among  both  the  rich  and  poor. 

The  interest  of  the  story  turns  on  the  day-by-day  developments 
which  show  the  young  wife  the  price  she  has  paid. 

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GROSSET  &    DUNLAP'S 

DRAMATIZED  NOVELS 

Original,  sincere  and  courageous — often  amusing — the 

kind  that  are  making  theatrical  history. 

»      —  .  ^ 

MADAME  X.  By  Alexandre  Bisson  and  J.  W.  McCon- 
aughy,  Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play. 
A  beautiful  Parisienne  became  an  outcast  because  her  hus« 
band  would  not  forgive  an  error  of  her  youth.  Her  love  for 
her  son  is  the  great  final  influence  in  her  career.  A  tremen» 
dous  dramatic  success. 

THE  GARDEN  OF  ALLAH.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

An  unconventional  English  woman  and  an  inscrutable 
Stranger  meet  and  love  in  an  oasis  of  the  Sahara.  Staged 
this  season  with  magnificent  cast  and  gorgeous  properties. 

THE  PRINCE  OF  INDIA.    By  Lew.  Wallace. 

A  glowing  romance  of  the  Byzantine  Empire,  presenting 
with  extraordinary  power  the  siege  of  Constantinople,  and 
lighting  its  tragedy  with  the  warm  underglow  of  an  Oriental 
romance.    As  a  play  it  is  a  great  dramatic  spectacle. 

TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY.  By  Grace 
Miller  White.  Illust.  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy., 
A  girl  from  the  dregs  of  society,  loves  a  young  Cornell  Uni« 
versity  student,  and  it  works  startling  changes  in  her  life  and 
the  lives  of  those  about  her.  The  dramatic  version  is  one  of 
the  sensations  of  the  season. 

YOUNG  WALLINGFORD.  By  George  Randolph 
Chester.  Illust.  by  F.  R.  Gruger  and  Henry  Raleigh. 
A  series  of  clever  swindles  conducted  by  a  cheerful  young 
man,  each  of  which  is  just  on  the  safe  side  of  a  State's  prison 
offence.  As  "Get-Rich-Quick  Wallingford,"  it  is  probably 
the  most  amusing  expose  of  money  manipulation  ever  seen 
on  the  stage. 

THE  INTRUSION  OF  JIMMY.    By  P.  G.  Wode. 

house.    Illustrations  by  Will  Grefe. 
Social  and  club  life  in  London  and  New  York,  an  amateur 
burglary  adventure  and  a  love  story.    Dramatized  under  the 
title  of  "A  Gentleman  of  Leisure"  it  furnishes  hours  oi 
laughter  to  the  play-goers. 

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CHARMING  BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS 

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WHEN   PATTY  WENT  TO   COLLEGE,    By  Jean  Webster. 

Illustrated  by  C.  D.  Williams. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  life  in  a  girl's  college  that  has  ever  been 
•written.  It  is  bright,  whimsical  and  entertaining,  lifelike,  laughable 
and  thoroughly  human. 

JUST    PATTY,    By  Jean  Webster. 

Illustrated  by  CM.  Relyea. 

Patty  is  full  of  the  joy  of  living,  fun-loving,  given  to  ingenious 
mischief  for  its  own  sake,  with  a  disregard  for  pretty  convention  which 
is  an  unfailing  source  of  joy  to  her  fellows, 

THE  POOR  LITTLE  RICH  GIRL,    By  Eleanor  Gates. 

With  four  full  page  illustrations. 

This  story  relates  the  experience  of  one  of  those  unfortunate  chil- 
dren whose  early  days  are  passed  in  the  companionship  of  a  governess, 
seldom  seeing  either  parent,  and  famishing  for  natural  love  and  tender- 
ness.   A  charming  play  as  dramatized  by  the  author. 

REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK    FARM,       By   Kate   Douglas 
Wiggin. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  studies  of  childhood — Rebecca's  artistic, 
unusual  and  quaintly  charming  qualities  stand  out  midst  a  circle  of 
austere  New  Englanders.  The  stage  version  is  making  a  phenominal 
dramatic  record. 

NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA,    By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

Additional  episodes  in  the  girlhood  of  this  delightful  heroine  that 
carry  Rebecca  through  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

REBECCA  MARY,    By  Annie  Hamilton  Donnell. 
Illustrated  by  Elizabeth  Shippen  Green. 

This  author  possesses  the  rare  gift  of  portraying  all  the  grotesque 
*  little  joys  and  sorrows  and  scruples  of  this  very  small  girl  with  a  pa- 
thos that  is  peculiarly  genuine  and  appealing. 

EMMY  LOU:    Her  Book  and  Heart,    By  George  Madden  Martin. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Louis  Hinton. 

Emmy  Lou  is  irresistibly  lovable,  because  she  is  so  absolutely  real. 
She  is  just  a  bewitchingly  innocent,  hugable  little  maid.  The  book  is 
wonderfully  human. 

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AMELIA  E.  BARR'S  STORIES 

DELIGHTFUL    TALES    OF   OLD    NEW  YORK 

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THE  BOW  OF  ORANGE  RIBBON.    With  Frontispiece. 

This  exquisite  little  romance  opens  in  New  York  City  in  "the  ten- 
der grace"  of  a  May  day  long  past,  when  the  old  Dutch  families 
clustered  around  Bowling  Green.  It  is  the  beginning  of  the  romance 
of  Katherine,  a  young  Dutch  girl  who  has  sent,  as  a  love  token,  to  a 
young  English  officer,  the  bow  of  orange  ribbon  which  she  has  worn 
for  years  as  a  sacred  emblem  on  the  day  of  St.  Nicholas.  After  the 
bow  of  ribbon  Katherine 's  heart  soon  flies.  Unlike  her  sister,  whose 
heart  has  found  a  safe  resting  place  among  her  own  people,  Katherine's 
heart  must  rove  from  home — must  know  to  the  utmost  all  that  life 
holds  of  both  joy  and  sorrow.  And  so  she  goes  beyond  the  seas,  leav- 
ing her  parents  as  desolate  as  were  Isaac  and  Rebecca  of  old. 

THE    MAID    OF   MAIDEN   LANE;       A  Love  Story.      With 

Illustrations  by  S.  M.  Arthur. 

A  sequel  to  "The  Bow  of  Orange  Ribbon."       The  time  is  the 

Sacious  days  of  Seventeen-hundred  and  ninety-one,  when  "The 
arseillaise  '  was  sung  with  the  American  national  airs,  and  the 
spirit  affected  commerce,  politics  and  conversation.  In  the  midst  of 
this  period  the  romance  of  "The  Sweetest  Maid  in  Maiden  Lane"  un- 
folds.     Its  chief  charm  lies  in  its  historic  and  local  color. 

SHEILA  VEDDER.     Frontispiece  in  colors  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  love  story  set  in  the  Shetland  Islands. 

Among  the  simple,  homely  folk  who  dwelt  there  Jan  Vedder  was 
raised;  and  to  this  island  came  lovely  Sheila  Jarrow.  Jan  knew,  when 
first  he  beheld  her,  that  she  was  the  one  woman  in  ail  the  world  for 
him,  and  to  the  winning  of  her  love  he  set  himself.  The  long  days  of 
summer  by  the  sea,  the  nights  under  the  marvelously  soft  radiance  of 
Shetland  moonlight  passed  in  love-making,  while  with  wonderment 
the  man  and  woman,  alien  in  traditions,  adjusted  themselves  to  each 
other.  And  the  day  came  when  Jan  and  Sheila  wed,  and  then  a 
sweeter  love  story  is  told. 

TRINITY  BELLS.      With  eight  Illustrations  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

The  story  centers  around  the  life  of  little  Katryntje  Van  Clyffe, 
who,  on  her  return  home  from  a  fashionable  boarding  school,  faces 
poverty  and  heartache.  Stout  of  heart,  she  does  not  permit  herself 
to  become  discouraged  even  at  the  news  of  the  loss  of  her  father  and 
his  ship  "The  Golden  Victory."  The  story  of  Katryntje 's  life  was 
interwoven  with  the  music  of  the  Trinity  Bells  which  eventually 
heralded  her  wedding  day. 

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GRET:    The  Story  of  a  Pagan.    By  Beatrice  Mantle.    Illustrated  1 
by  C.  M.  Relyea.  { 

The  wild  free  life  of  an  Oregon  lumber  camp  furnishes  the  setting  for  this , 
Strong  original  story.  Gret  is  the  daughter  of  the  camp  and  is  utterly  con- 
tent w'th  the  wild  life— until  love  comes.  A  fine  book,  uninsured  by  con* 
vent)  A. 

OLD  CHESTER  TALES.     By  Margaret  Deland.     Illustrated 
by  Howard  Pyle. 

A  vivid  yet  delicate  portrayal  of  characters  in  an  old  New  England  town. 

Dr.  Lavendar's  fine,  kindly  wisdom  is  brought  to  bear  upon  the  fives  of 
tell,  permeating  the  whole  volume  like  the  pungent  odor  of  pine,  healthful 
;  nd  life  giving.  "  Old  Chester  Tales  "  will  surely  be  among  the  books  that 
aoide. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  BABY.    By  Josephine  Daskam.    Illus- 
trated by  F.  Y.  Cory. 

The  dawning  intelligence  of  the  baby  was  grappled  with  by  its  great  aunt, 
an  elderly  maiden,  whose  book  knowledge  ofbabies  was  something  at  which 
even  the  infant  himself  winked.    A  delicious  bit  of  humor. 
REBECCA  MARY.     By  Annie  Hamilton  DonneiL     Illustrated 
by  Ehzabeth  Shippen  Green. 

The  heart  tragedies  of  this  little  girl  with  no  one  near  to  share  them,  are 
.'old  with  a  delicate  art,  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  needs  of  the  childish 
heart  and  a  humorous  knowledge  of  the  workings  cf  the  childish  mind. 
THE  FLY  ON  THE  WHEEL.    By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 
Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  Irish  story  of  real  power,  perfect  in  development  and  showing  a  true 
conception  of  the  spirited  Hibernian  character  as  displayed  in  the  tragic  as 
well  as  the  tender  phases  of  life. 

THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S.   By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

An  island  in  the  South  Sea  is  the  setting  for  this  entertaining  tale,  and 
an  all-conquering  hero  and  a  beautiful  princess  figure  in  a  most  complicated 
plot.    One  of  Mr.  McCutclieon's  best  books. 

TOLD  BY  UNCLE  REMUS.    By  Joel  Chandler  Harris.    Illus- 
trated by  A.  B.  Frost,  J.  M.  Conde  and  Frank  Verbeck. 

Again  Uncle  Remus  enters  the  fields  of  childhood,  and  leads  another 
little  boy  to  that  non-locatable  land  called  "  Brer   Rabbit's  Laughing 
Place,"  and  again  the  quaint  animals  spring  into  active  life  and  play  theif 
parts,  for  the  edification  of  a  small  but  appreciative  audience. 
THE  CLIMBER.    By  E.  F.  Benson.    "With  frontispiece. 

An  unsparing  analysis  of  an  ambitious  woman's  soul— a  woman  who 

believed  that  in  social  supremacy  she  would  find  happiness,  and  who  finds 

instead  the  utter  despair  of  one  who  has  chosen  the  things  that  pass  away. 

LYNCH'S  DAUGHTER.    By  Leonard  Merrick.    Illustrated  by 

Geo.  Brehm. 

,  A  story  of  to-day,  telling  how  a  rich  girl  acquires  ideals  of  beautiful  and 
simple  living,  and  of  men  and  love,  quite  apart  from  the  teachings  of  her 
father,  *'  Old  Man  Lynch  '^of^Wall  St.    True  to  life,  clever  in  treatment. 

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THE  MUSIC  MASTER.    By  Charles  Klein.     Illustrated 
by  John  Rae. 
This  marvelously  vivid  narrative  turns  upon  the  search  of  a  Ger 
man  musician  in  JNew  York  for  his  little  daughter.    Mr.  Klein  has, 
drell  portrayed  his  pathetic  struggle  with  poverty,  his  varied  expe^ 
riences  in  endeavoring  to  meet  the  demands  of  a  public  not  trained' 
to  an  appreciation  of  the  classic,  and  his  final  great  hour  when,  in* 
the  rapidly  shifting  events  of  a  big  city,  his  little  daughter,  now  a 
beautitnl  young  woman,  is  brought  to  his  very  door.    A  superb  bit 
of  fiction,  palpitating  with   the   life  of  the  great  metropolis.     The 
play  in  which  David  Warfield  scored  his  highest  success. 

DR.  LAVENDAR'S  PEOPLE.  By  Margaret  Deland. 
Illustrated  by  Lucius  Hitchcock. 
Mrs.  Deland  won  so  many  friends  through  Old  Chester  Tales 
that  this  volume  needs  no  introduction  beyond  its  title.  The  lova- 
ble doctor  is  more  ripened  in  this  later  book,  and  the  simple  come, 
dies  and  tragedies  of  the  old  village  are  told  with  dramatic  charm. 

OLD  CHESTER  TALES.  By  Margaret  Deland.  Illustrated 
by  Howard  Pyle. 

Stories  portraying  with  delightful  humor  and  pathos  a  quaint  peo- 
ple in  a  sleepy  old  town.  Dr.  Lavendar,  a  very  human  and  lovable 
"preacher,"  is  the  connecting  link  between  these  dramatic  stories 
from  life. 

HE  FELL  IN  LOVE  WITH  HIS  WIFE.    By  E.  P.  Roe. 
With  frontispiece. 

The  hero  is  a  farmer — a  man  with  honest,  sincere  views  of  life. 
Beieft  of  his  wife,  his  home  is  cared  for  by  a  succession  of  domes- 
tics of  varying  degrees  of  inefficiency  until,  from  a  most  unpromis- 
ing source,  comes  a  young  woman  who  not  only  becomes  his  wife 
but  commands  his  respect  and  eventually  wins  his  love.  A  bright 
and  delicate  romance,  revealing  on  both  sides  a  love  that  surmounts 
all  difficulties  and  survives  the  censure  of  friends  as  well  as  the  bit- 
terness of  enemies. 
THE  YOKE.    By  Elizabeth  Miller. 

Against  the  historical  background  of  the  days  when  the  children 
Of  Israel  were  delivered  from  the  bondage  of  Egypt,  the  author  has 
Sketched  a  romance  of  compelling  charm.  A  biblical  novel  as  great 
(as  any  since  "  Ben  Hur." 

SAUL  OF  TARSUS.  By  Elizabeth  Miller.  Illustrated  by 
Andr£  Castaigne. 
The  scenes  of  this  stery  are  laid  in  Jerusalem,  Alexandria,  Rome 
and  Damascus.  The  Apostle  Paul,  the  Martyr  Stephen,  Herod 
Agrippa  and  the  Emperors  Tiberius  and  Caligula  are  among  the 
mighty  figures  that  move  through  the  pages.  Wonderful  descrip- 
tions, and  a  love  story  of  the  purest  and  noblest  type  mark  this 
most  remarkable  religious  romance. 

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BEN    HUR.    A  Tale  of  the  Christ.    By  General  Lew  Wallace 

This  famous  Religious-Historical  Romance  with  its  mighty  story, 
brilliant  pageantry,  thrilling  action  and  deep  religious  reverence, 
hardly  requires  an  outline.  The  whole  world  has  placed  "Ben-Hur" 
on  a  height  of  pre-eminence  which  no  other  novel  of  its  time  has 
reached.  The  clashing  of  rivalry  and  the  deepest  human  passions, 
the  perfect  reproduction  of  brilliant  Roman  life,  and  the  tense,  fierce 
atmosphere  of  the  arena  have  kept  their  deep  fascination. 

THE    PRINCE  OE  INDIA.    By  General  Lew  Wallace 

A  glowing  romance  of  the  Byzantine  Empire,  showing,  with  vivid 
imagination,  the  possible  forces  behind  the  internal  decay  of  the  Em- 
pire that  hastened  the  fall  of  Constantinople. 

The  foreground  figure  is  the  person  known  to  all  as  the  Wan- 
dering Jew,  at  this  time  appearing  as  the  Prince  of  India,  with  vast 
stores  of  wealth,  and  is  supposed  to  have  instigated  many  wars  and 
fomented  the  Crusades. 

Mohammed's  love  for  the  Princess  Irene  is  beautifully  wrought 
into  the  story,  and  the  book  as  a  whole  is  a  marvelous  work  both 
historically  and  romantically. 

THE    FAIR    GOD.      By  General  Lew  Wallace.      A  Tale  of  the 

Conquest  of  Mexico.    With  Eight  Illustrations  by  Eric  Pape. 

All  the  annals  of  conquest  have  nothing  more  brilliantly  daring 
and  dramatic  than  the  drama  played  in  Mexico  by  Cortes.  _  As  a 
dazzling  picture  of  Mexico  and  the  Montezumas  it  leaves  nothing  to 
be  desired. 

The  artist  has  caught  with  rare  enthusiasm  the  spirit  of  the 
Spanish  conquerors  of  Mexico,  its  beauty  and  glory  and  romance. 

TARRY   THOU    TILL   I    COME    or,  Salathiel,  the  Wandering 

Jew.  By  George  Croly.  With  twenty  illustrations  by  T.  de  Thulstrup 

A  historical  novel,  dealing  with  the  momentous  events  that  oc- 
curred, chiefly  in  Palestine,  from  the  time  of  the  Crucifixion  to  the 
destruction  of  Jerusalem. 

The  book,  as  a  story,  is  replete  with  Oriental  charm  and  richness, 
and  the  character  drawing  is  marvelous.  No  other  novel  ever  written 
has  portrayed  with  such  vividness  the  events  that  convulsed  Rome 
and  destroyed  Jerusalem  in  the  early  days  of  Christanity. 

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